


Childish

by ifdragonscouldtalk



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, BAMF Tony Stark, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Gen, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Steve is trying, Thor Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, everyone shows up tho, those are the main characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifdragonscouldtalk/pseuds/ifdragonscouldtalk
Summary: Tony didn't mean to make a mess of things, usually. This time he'd really stuck his foot in it. When Tony is targeted and turned into a kid with no apparent reason and no way back, the Avengers are stuck looking after the eccentric child genius. Tony might not be what they expected.Cross-posted on fanfiction.netAccepting prompts! Beware of adult language and some canon-typical violence.





	1. 1: Well Shit

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff and whump are going to be common themes in this fic, and prompts are very much accepted. I have a lot planned. This doesn't quite follow canon: IM3 and AoU haven't happened yet, Tony still has the reactor, and Clint isn't married for several reasons but mostly for logistics, since they're all living together in the tower. This is honestly more like AA than MCU, but I started AA after I started writing this so it's a bit of a mix.

It was a normal operation. Or it was supposed to be, until they lost track of Iron Man. No one really noticed until after the battle was over, although, to be fair, Hawkeye had tried to tell them Tony was no longer in the field, and they had ignored him. It was when Bruce, who hadn’t been needed, emerged from the quinjet and asked where his friend was that Steve started to panic. It was normal for Tony to wander off in the middle of battle, chasing stragglers or looking for a source, but he normally returned by the time it was finished. Natasha only scoffed.

“He’s probably fine,” she said. “You know him, he’s probably napping under a tree somewhere.” Bruce gave a wry smile, but no one else found it particularly funny. Thor was looking about nervously.

“Man of Iron usually tells when he goes off alone,” he pointed out, looking at Steve for guidance. Steve didn’t have any. He wanted to be angry, but instead he was just worried.

“Tony?” he asked into his earpiece, glancing at the others anxiously. Bruce was taking calming breaths. “Tony, where the heck are you?” For several minutes there was no response, and then a panting breath rasped in their ears. Natasha’s hands twitched to tear out her comm, but she stopped herself. “Tony, what’s happening?” Steve couldn’t keep the panic from his voice, and Bruce was looking sick.

“ _Cap_ _,_ ” Stark rasped over the comms, sounding distinctly out of breath. “ _Cap, I need some backup._ ” And it was clear he was trying to keep the pain and fear out of his voice, but not quite succeeding.

“Where are you?” Clint asked sharply while Natasha reloaded her guns and Thor gripped Mjolnir tighter. Bruce was clenching his fists. Tony began to respond but cut himself off with a cry, sounds of fighting and the crushing of metal screeching in their ears, followed by a screech.

“ _God damn it!_ ” Tony hissed, his voice breaking. “ _Fuck... Fuck!_ ”

“ _Sir,_ ” JARVIS spoke, his voice tinged with worry, “ _the air filtering systems in the suit have been dangerously damaged and power has been compromised. In addition, your heart rate has increased, and my sensors detect your arm is broken in at least two places."_

 _“I can feel that myself, J!_ ” Tony snapped breathlessly. “ _Cap, please tell me you guys are still there._ ”

“We’re here Tony,” Bruce responded, trying to keep calm. “Where are you, we’re coming now.”

“ _I’m-_ ” Tony started and was cut off again with a “ _fuck!_ ” There was the screech of tearing metal and Tony cussing like a sailor at something. “ _Get the fuck- What the hell are you-?! Don’t touch that! Dammit! J, I need a report!_ ”

“ _All systems offline, sir._ ”

“ _Fuck! I’m blind!_ ”

“Tony! Where are you?!” Steve could feel the panic starting to turn his blood cold, but he forced it down, putting as much command into his tone as he could manage. Tony grunted in response, muttering curses and starting to respond several times before more fighting sounds could be heard.

“ _Dammit! J, tell them where we are!_ ”

“ _Sir, your location is offline._ ”

“ _Well tell them where I w-_ ” Tony screamed and Bruce ripped out his comm, crushing it in his fist, looking distinctly green. Thor was red with anger. “ _Fuck! Fuck, that hurts!_ ”

“ _Sir, I must advise you remove the suit!_ ”

“ _If I take off the suit they’ll kill me, J, so great plan!_ ”

“ _Sir, if you do not take it off the suit will kill you!_ ” JARVIS deadpanned, and the Avengers felt their stomachs drop. Tony cursed in a way that told them his A.I. had given him good reason.

“ _You guys better get here quick. I’m pretty sure this was a trap. As far as I know, I’m south of you._ ” They could hear the armor creaking and shuddering as Tony climbed out of it, cursing and muttering about manual releases. The team was already running after Steve and Thor, searching for any sign of their wayward Iron Man. Tony was panting heavily, whispering to them “ _I’m hiding for now, but it won’t take them long to find me._ ” His voice broke with pain, but if he was scared, he was doing a good job hiding it.

“What happened?” Steve demanded, trying to push down his panic and anger.

“ _I wish I knew. I was trying to take down some stragglers but more kept coming, and they dragged me into some building and started tearing off my suit!_ ”

“Hold tight, we’re on our way,” Natasha told him coolly. Bruce had remained at the quinjet, trying to calm himself down.

“ _I_ _can’t exactly go anywhere,_ ” Tony chuckled, before he cursed loudly. They could hear crashes and the garbled voice of someone talking to Tony, before Tony answered “ _I never consented to that. How much will I be paid? Actually, I guarantee you don’t have enough._ ” There was a pause.

“Tony?”

“ _What the- Jesus! What is that?! Get away from me!_ ” Panic was audible in Tony’s voice now and they could hear him thrashing and groaning with pain. “ _What did you just do?!_ _It’ll what!?_ ” There was a crash and Steve forced himself to run faster. Tony’s breathing was harsh and forced, and the sound of feet was so loud they could hear it through the comms.

“Tony! What happened?” Clint demanded, saying to the rest “There’s a building up ahead.”

“ _They g-gave me something,_ ” Tony gasped before letting out a whimper, a strange and foreign sound from the billionaire. “ _Fuck, guys, it hurts._ ”

“Just hold on!”

Then the screaming came, shrill and cracking, and they all tore out their comms in surprise. Steve stared at the building that was now less than 50 yards in front of them before looking to the sky, where an army of robots like the ones they had just defeated was bearing upwards to the clouds. Thor looked about ready to follow them but Natasha snapped, “Leave them! Let’s go get Stark.”

Clint was already running into the building, a broken down shanty with no front door and shattered windows. They saw him freeze just inside, staring at something, and followed cautiously.

Lying in the middle of the floor, curled up and crying loudly, in an oversized t-shirt, was a small, dark haired boy. He was clutching and clawing at his chest with one arm, the other lying uselessly on the floor, clearly broken, tears and screaming making his face red. The Avengers froze, trying to connect what they saw with what they knew.

“Anthony?” Thor asked weakly, clearly more at ease with the situation with the others, but still confused. The boy heard and tried to stop crying, wiping desperately at his face -- the attempt only cemented that this was their comrade. Steve rushed forward, carefully looking the boy over and gathering him into his arms.

“Tony, what’s wrong?” he asked frantically. “What happened?” Tony shook his head, clutching to the front of Steve’s suit apparently unconsciously.

“It hurts, Steve,” the boy whimpered, his voice breaking, and for Tony Stark to admit that he was in pain it had to hurt _a lot_. “They injected me with something weird and it h-hurts a lot.” He sobbed weakly, giving up on trying to hold it in, feeling vulnerable and needy. “My reactor hurts. They broke my suit.” Steve looked up at the others in horror, not knowing what to do. Natasha, ever the calm one, holstered her guns and walked forward, lifting Tony up carefully.

“Tony, do you know what happened to you?” she asked gently. Tony didn’t really want to answer, because it was scary, but he did anyway, in a small voice.

“I’m a kid again. The guy said I would be, but I didn’t think it would work.” He sniffed, looking up at her. “It hurts Natasha. How do I fix it?” She blinked, glancing at Clint for support.

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. We’ll get you back to normal.” He nodded, needing to believe her, and wrapped his arm around her neck, seeking comfort, mumbling an apology. She said nothing, even though the arc reactor pressing against her was uncomfortable, rubbing his back gently. “Let’s get back to SHIELD,” she muttered to the others. “They’re going to want to take a look at him.”

* * *

 

Little Tony resolutely refused to let go of Bruce. By the time the team had made it back to the helicarrier Bruce’s shoulder was soaked with tears. They kindly ignored Tony’s crying, attempting to preserve some semblance of his dignity, which Tony was both thankful for, as a logical adult, and upset by, as a needy child. Bruce just held him and comforted him, reassuring him softly, and Tony found himself relaxing. When they finally made it to the helicarrier med-bay Bruce had managed to get him to stop crying, but he still wouldn’t let Bruce leave him alone with the doctors.

He was picking at his red cast while Bruce talked to the doctors when Steve and Clint entered, both cleaned up and wearing SHIELD issued workout clothes. Tony waved weakly, noticing how Steve looked angry, but Clint smiled back at him weakly. He looked down again.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked in a stiff tone, and Tony found himself shrinking back, nodding silently. “Good. Now, what the heck did you think you were doing?” There was the anger. Tony sniffled, shrugging. “Why can’t you just listen to orders?! Why do you always have to go off on your own? One day, someone is going to be seriously hurt because of you!” Steve launched into his usual rant, and Tony felt a lump rising in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, tried to ignore Cap’s words like he usually did, but they stung.

“Steve,” Clint said quietly, trying to restrain their captain, but Steve ignored him.

“And look what happened this time! Look at you!” Steve’s voice rose in volume and Tony choked back a sob, the tears beginning to fall again, making his face hot.

“Steve!” Clint said louder, his own anger and frustration showing through, and Tony curled into himself, holding his cast to his stomach. Steve froze, staring at the boy and trying to figure out what he had done and how to fix it. Clint pushed past him, sitting down on the bed next to Tony and bundling the small boy close to him.

“I didn’t mean to,” Tony sobbed, and he knew he was acting childish, he _knew_ he was being stupid and it that this was really unlike him, but he couldn’t stop it. “I w-was trying to h-help. I th-thought they were g-g-going to go into the t-town and hurt someone. I d-didn’t mean to d-disobey.”

He felt like all his walls had been simultaneously smashed. He was tired, and his chest ached horribly in a way that it hadn’t since the first few months he’d had the reactor, and he was scared and just wanted Pepper there so he could be vulnerable without being judged and be told everything would be alright. He couldn’t even summon up the energy to be sarcastic. He felt about as big as he looked, and about as useful too. He sobbed loudly, burying his face in Clint’s side.

The archer rubbed his shoulder, mumbling nonsensical assurances and glaring at Steve. “We know that, Tony,” he assured softly, pulling the boy into his lap and hugging him gently. “We know this wasn’t your fault. Steve is just scared for you.”

“But I’m u-useless a-at the best of t-t-times and now I’m l-like this and it i-is my fault, I should’ve b-been able to h-h-handle it.” Tony couldn’t stop himself and only cried harder in his attempts, coughing and whimpering as it jostled the arc reactor.

“Tony, you aren’t useless.” He shook his head, not believing the now older man, unconsciously sticking his thumb in his mouth. It was an embarrassing habit his father had managed to train out of him when he was young, but it seemed it was back now. Neither Steve nor Clint had the heart to point it out to him. “No you’re not, Tony. The Avengers need you. This wasn’t your fault.”

Tony just sniffled, tears still streaming down his face. He looked very small like that, curled up in Clint’s lap wearing an oversized t-shirt with the light of his reactor shining through it. “I want to go home,” he finally said quietly, looking up at Clint. “I’m tired. I can’t deal with this.”

“The doctors want to keep you here,” Steve said quietly, and Tony blinked a few times before frowning.

“They can’t keep me here. They can’t! I’ll sign myself out.”

“Tony, you’re little now,” Clint gently reminded him. Apparently that was the wrong thing to do. Tony climbed out of his lap, his face red, and started screaming.

“I don’t have to stay here if I don’t want to! They have no right to keep me here! I’m a grown man! I want to go home!” His hands were in fists and he grabbed a pillow, looking about ready to beat someone with it. Clint held up his hands in surrender, not sure how to handle a child.

It was around that time that Thor walked in, took in the situation, and scooped Tony up, placing the small Avenger on his shoulders. “What is wrong, little Stark?”

“They won’t let me go home,” Tony responded, sniffling and rubbing his eyes. “But I’m tired and want to go to bed.” Thor let out a deep chuckle, patting Tony’s knee.

“That is okay, little Stark. I will watch over you and make sure you go home. You may sleep!” Tony rested his cheek on the top of Thor’s head, grumbling.

“I don’t trust the doctors. They just want to experiment on me and the arc reactor. I don’t want to go to sleep here.”

“Fear not, young friend! I will not allow the doctors to harm you. You may sleep, Anthony.” Tony grumbled again but his eyes slipped closed, and despite how apparently uncomfortable his position must’ve been, fell asleep draped over Thor’s head. Steve and Clint watched as his thumb found its way into his mouth again, then stared a bit more to reassure themselves of the gentle rise and fall of their friends chest. Thor watched them, chuckling softly. “You are not good with children?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m bad with them,” Steve mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down sheepishly. “But this is _Tony_... I guess there are some things I’ll have to get used to.”

“I’m actually very good with kids,” Clint huffed, crossing his arms. “Kids love me.” Thor laughed a bit.

Steve stepped out of the way as Bruce entered. The physicist glanced at the bed, then searched the room until his eyes lighted upon Tony, perched on Thor’s shoulders, and he held his hands out for the boy. Thor obliged without question, watching as Banner cradled the still sleeping boy gently. Tony sighed at the more comfortable position and pressed his face to Bruce’s shoulder. It was only then that Bruce looked up at the expectant faces, speaking softly.

“Physically, he seems to be okay. He still has the shrapnel and the arc reactor, although both seem to be giving him an immense amount of discomfort. He has a broken arm from the fight, and bruises which we assume were also from the fight.” He sighed quietly and the atmosphere in the room became stiffer. “He appears to be about five years old. He’s retained all his memories, but has childish impulses and is very emotive. For all intents and purposes, he’s simply a brilliant child. As an adult, he understands when he’s throwing temper tantrums or being childish, but doesn’t have the impulse control to stop himself.” He glanced down. “We all know things like that are going to be hard on him, considering how he usually acts. They identified a strange substance in his blood and don’t know how long it will take until he can change back. For now, the four of us, Natasha, and Pepper are supposed to be his guardians.”

“They don’t know how to change him back,” Clint confirmed carefully. “So he could be stuck like this? We might have to raise him all over again?” Bruce glanced up, his eyebrows pinching together. It was all the answer they needed.

“Natasha and Pepper are at the tower now preparing a room for him. They said we could take him home, since the stress of being here isn’t good for him.” Steve sighed, watching the sleeping boy in Bruce’s embrace.

“We should stop by the store and pick up some things for him.”

“Yeah, like a pacifier,” Clint snorted, and Bruce frowned at him. Steve made a face.

“I was thinking more like toys. A kid like Tony can’t be occupied by regular things for kids his age, and we can’t let someone his size into the workshop. He’s going to need something.” Thor nodded thoughtfully.

“And clothes,” the demigod added, motioning to the oversized shirt. “Friend Stark will be more comfortable in clothes that are his own size.” Bruce nodded.

“Guess we’d better get to it.”


	2. Seriously?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget that you can submit prompts and read ahead on ff.net!

Tony was  _ not _ happy about being woken up. He acted much like his normal self, blinking blearily and looking around but not really taking anything in, except for the fact that he reached out his casted hand for someone to take and kept the other thumb securely in his mouth. Clint was the one who took his hand, and after looking around for a few minutes while the others made light talk, he looked up at his archer friend, popping his thumb out of his mouth. 

“Why are we at the toy store?” His voice was gravelly from sleep and his curly hair was rumpled. They were getting a lot of strange looks from mothers, presumably because of how Tony was dressed; he still didn’t have shoes on; Steve couldn’t help but blush at the indecency of how they must look. Clint beamed down at the boy. 

“We’re here for you, Mister Stark.” Tony frowned, his nose scrunching up slightly, his brain still not fully awake. 

“You took my credit card?” Clint snorted. 

“Of course.” 

“Oh,” was all Tony said before popping his thumb back in his mouth and moving a little closer to Clint’s legs, looking up at the crowd of carts and people. He didn’t like feeling so small. It felt dangerous. He tugged Steve closer to the other side of him, making sure Thor and Bruce were also close, and looked at the toys and clothes with little interest. Bruce sighed. 

“We’re here because you’re going to need something to entertain you, Tony.”

“Oh,” Tony responded again, blinking a few times before perking again. “You mean toys?” Thor beamed and Bruce nodded. Tony nearly glowed with excitement, before suddenly remembering he was not actually a child. He shouldn’t be this excited simply because of some little plastic toys. He deflated slightly. “I don’t need them. C’mon Bruce, you think some kiddie toys can entertain the great Tony Stark?” Bruce frowned; Clint knelt down, whispering something in Tony’s ear that made the boy light up, quirk his head, and drag them through the store. Bruce and Steve shared a look before they followed. They found Clint laughing and Tony snickering. 

“Bruce, look!” Tony smirked as he held up a soft toy that was distinctly green. Bruce looked mortified. “A Hulk plush! I didn’t know they even made things like this, it’s incredible.” He glanced around, picking something else up and laughing louder. “Steve!” It was a plastic replica of Captain America’s shield, and Tony found it hilarious. Steve didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed at the paraphernalia, so he settled for blushing and crossing his arms. Tony smirked down at the two toys, taking in his friends’ faces, and grinned. “I’m definitely getting them.” Bruce looked torn between snatching the Hulk away and hiding his face in mortification. Thor was chuckling heartily. 

Bruce was unable to talk Tony out of getting the plush Hulk, and Steve didn’t even bother to try. Clint demanded Tony get a Nerf bow and arrows so Clint could teach him how to shoot, and, albeit begrudgingly, the boy obliged. Since he was already getting those, he threw caution to the wind and got a plastic Mjolnir (which Thor was highly amused by) and fake Widow Bites (which Tony planned to enhance as soon as he could) as well. Bruce wasn’t particularly happy with his selection, but he couldn’t say he was upset that Clint had convinced the genius to get some toys. 

Clothes were harder, especially with the glares the mothers were giving them. Tony found it funny, snickering “They think one of you is the worst dad ever.” Somehow they managed to talk the young billionaire out of buying a complete kid-sized suit by getting him collared shirts, vests, and some small band tees. They also managed to convince him to get shoes more sensible than dress shoes, despite a lot of grumbling and scowling. 

Upon heading to the restroom to change into his new clothes, Tony was frustrated to find that his fingers were clumsier than usual. He felt like he had been adjusting well, but inside he was screaming, alarms ringing wildly. He was scared and his chest still hurt like an elephant had sat on it. The sizes and perspectives of things were all wrong and it made him dizzy. Not to mention the fact that now everyone was treating him like an actual child -- talking down to him, babying him. He desperately wanted to be home with Pepper where things could resume some semblance of normal. It took a couple steadying breaths for him to feel calm enough to emerge from the restroom, grabbing his plush Hulk from Clint and smirking again at the look on Bruce’s face. 

At least Clint wasn’t treating him any different. Bruce was nagging, which wasn’t unusual, but was also even more cautious than he usually was, and Tony didn’t like it. Steve kept staring at him like he was broken glass and needed to watch his step. Thor didn’t necessarily act different, but he kept calling him ‘young friend’ or ‘small Stark,’ and yeah, Tony didn’t really need a reminder that he was small, he could see that himself, thanks, and maybe, Thor, you’re just a goddamn giant, because that’s what you look like from down here. 

He also quickly learned that keeping up with the others, which was a challenge on a good day owing to the fact that he was shorter than them anyway, was infinitely harder in child size. His legs hurt and the pain from his arc reactor made him want to cry, but he just held the Hulk tightly and snarkily asked why the hell they hadn’t called a taxi. Clint said something about crying because of a little exercise and Tony felt his trademark glare find its way to his face, and started to feel more like himself again. So Clint was helping. The Bird Brain could be useful. Other than, you know, covering their asses in battle like no one’s business. But honestly, he was practically running to keep up with the two blond menaces, and he was sick of being babied by Bruce, and he knew they all knew this, so  _ where _ was the taxi?

But it was Clint who scooped him up and placed him on his hip, grinning like a maniac. Tony scowled. “Let me down.”

“No can do, Small Fry.” 

“Barton, I swear to God.” 

“What? I have to get in my upper body exercises.” Tony groaned, though, to be honest, he didn’t really want to be put down. He felt more comfortable like this -- he was closer to his normal height and things weren’t so scary like that, and his legs weren’t hurting anymore. He glared at Clint a bit more just for good measure before relaxing into the archer, putting his head on his shoulder. 

“If you drop me I’ll kill you.”

“Looking forward to it.” 

* * *

 

Tony was completely mortified by the time they got back to the tower. The amount of people who told Clint “What a smart little boy you have!” was absolutely embarrassing. The only saving grace was that Clint seemed to feel about as awkward as he did, so he tolerated it, for the sake of his legs not being sore tomorrow. Yeah, it totally wasn’t because he felt safer like this. That would  _ really _ be embarrassing. 

He squirmed out of Clint’s grip as soon as they were in the lobby, and stalked to the elevator, taking way more joy than he should have in pressing the button and watching the numbers above the elevator change. He could hear the others chatting lightly behind him, probably  _ about _ him, but he couldn’t really bother to care what they were saying. Despite knowing she was at work, he couldn’t help but hope that Pepper was home and he would be able to relax with her. 

Instead, the first person he saw when the elevator opened was Natasha, which excited him far more than it should have. He ran over to her and she gave him an indulgent smile, which he responded to with a smirk, holding up his Hulk. “Natasha! Look what they had at the toy store.” Natasha took a moment to take in the sight of little Tony, dressed up smartly and holding out a stuffed Hulk, before bursting into laughter, for a very different reason than Tony thought. 

“They make things like that?” she finally asked, watching as the smirk morphed into a trademark Stark grin. 

“They also had your Widow Bites. I’m going to improve them as soon as I get the chance, just as a challenge. Plastic is not an ideal material but I don’t think you guys are going to let me near a welder.” 

“You would be right about that.” Tony froze, blinked, and spun around, beaming widely. 

“Pepper!” He almost wanted to laugh. It was strange to him now, how strong emotions were and how quickly they changed, and it was a bit scary. Pepper was smiling at him, shaking her head, her hands on her hips. 

“Look what you’ve done this time, Tony,” she teased, and he chuckled as he walked over. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be running my company, Miss Potts?” 

“Well, the best way to take care of a company is to take care of the boss, Mister Stark.” She laughed lightly and he felt his happiness grow, feeling more like normal. Pepper knelt to his height and fixed his vest. “Not wearing Gucci?” He faked a scowl. 

“Steve wouldn’t let me. He doesn’t know fashion when he sees it.” Behind him Rogers snorted. A small frown worked its way onto his face. “But really, I thought you had meetings all day today.”

“I did,” Pepper responded with a smirk. “I finished them.” Tony rolled his eyes, grinning. 

“How would I live without you?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“At least tell me you give yourself good bonuses.”

“Very good. In fact, the other day you bought me a new car.” Tony burst into laughter, leaning over to kiss Pepper on the cheek -- he wasn’t sure what her reaction would be to getting kissed by a five year old, but for now she didn’t seem to mind his new situation. He was glad for that. It had been a serious fear that she would leave him, although why she would leave him now after everything he couldn’t fathom. Pepper plucked the Hulk from his hand and examined it, eyeing him teasingly. 

“Are you sure the tag isn’t a choking hazard?” He heard Clint burst into laughter behind him as he rolled his eyes and shoved her arm, shaking his head. 

“You’re a demon. Demon woman.” She stood and he took her hand as she offered it. 

“So you’ve said. Let’s get some food in you -- I know you didn’t eat last night, and you probably didn’t eat breakfast either.” She glanced at him. “That, by the way, will have to stop for the time being. Smaller bodies need more food.” He grumbled good-naturedly, and tried not to dwell on the situation. It seemed a lot of changes were being made that he didn’t have control over, which scared him. Not to mention the dangers of a tiny superhero billionaire; how many times had he been kidnapped when he was actually young? How many times had he been kidnapped since he’d become a billionaire? How many times had he been kidnapped since he’d become a superhero? 

“Pizza?” he asked instead, glancing over at her again. 

“Already ordered it,” Natasha called, smirking at her when he looked over. He grinned. 

“You’re a godsend, Romanoff.”

“Better remember it, Stark.” 

He and Pepper plopped down on the couch in the living room as the others claimed their own seats, and he was pleasantly happy to discover he fit perfect underneath Pepper’s arm. She toyed with his curls, rubbing circles in his scalp as the others talked about something-or-another; he couldn't bother to add anything, for once. He didn't really trust his voice. He was content to simply sit and be surrounded by their voices and feel a little less scared. After all, his friends -- he could call them friends at this point, couldn't he? -- wouldn't let anything happen to him. They would look after him. 

It was only five minutes later that JARVIS announced pleasantly that the delivery man was in the lobby, and Tony’s groan of “ _ Pizza… _ ” elicited laughter as Bruce left to fetch them. It was thirty minutes after that when the pizza was entirely gone and they were bantering together, and Tony felt his eyes falling shut. It was an altogether alarming feeling, to be so at ease, hearing laughing voices around him and leaning into Pepper’s gentle touch. 

“Alright,” he hear Pepper say close to his ear, jarring him awake and drawing attention to them. “Bedtime for geniuses.” He took in his friends’ smirking faces and looked at Bruce. 

“She means you,” he said snarkily, eliciting laughter as Bruce stuck out his tongue in protest.

“I mean  _ you _ ,” Pepper admonished, but there was a laugh on her voice. Tony rolled his eyes, rubbing his chest in an effort to alleviate even a bit of the burning pain the arc reactor was now causing. “Bothering you again?” He nodded as she stood, offering a hand to him. “Come on then. Let’s go take care of you.” She gave a cheeky smile and he rolled his eyes again.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” And that was apparently incredibly funny, as all his friends burst into laughter.

“JARVIS, how often has Tony hidden injuries?” Bruce asked with a small smile, and Tony glared at him. 

“ _ Including illnesses, Dr. Banner? _ ”

“Traitor!” Tony shouted, glaring at a camera that was hidden (but he knew where all of them were). Clint fell off his chair laughing. Pepper just grinned and held her hand out more insistently, getting a sigh in response as he hopped off the couch and took it, tucking the Hulk under his casted arm. 

“The doctors said you can give him some Motrin,” Steve called, and Tony made a face while Pepper saluted. He didn't have the energy to question why they were headed down the hallway instead of going to the elevator which would lead up to his suite. He simply followed after Pepper obediently, rubbing his eyes tiredly and ignoring the pain in his chest.

It was an honest surprise when she led him to one of the guest bedrooms, which had been altered beyond its usually sparse furnishings. The beige walls were covered in blueprints, calming pictures, and --  _ Oh my God, _ he thought -- Avengers posters, mostly Iron Man. The twin bed (he was sure he had put queen beds in all the guest rooms, it must have been changed) was covered in red sheets and an Iron Man comforter which brought him far more satisfaction than it probably should have. He always was an egotistical bastard. The small desk had been replaced with a miniature workshop table, supplies, and tools, and he lit up at the prospect of still being able to do some of his work. On the dresser across from the bed was a large television and a stack of Disney movies -- dear lord, he loved Disney. 

“Every child’s dream,” Natasha teased from behind him, making him jump and glare at her smirk while Pepper laughed. “Does the room inflate your ego enough?” 

“You're just jealous that they don't have you on a bedspread,” he shot back. She rolled her eyes.

“I don't  _ need _ my face on a bedspread to feel good about myself.” Ouch, that stung. But whatever, he didn't particularly care what others thought of him, except Pepper, and Rhodey, and maybe Bruce. Natasha handed Pepper the pajamas they had bought earlier and a bottle of liquid Motrin which Tony made a face at. He grabbed his pjs and went to the bathroom to change, fumbling a bit with the buttons on the shirt. When he came out Pepper shoved a little plastic cup full of medicine at him. He downed it like a shot and crawled into the bed, tired and hurting, holding his Hulk close. 

Pepper went into the bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth, unbuttoning his carefully done top, ignoring his protests, and laying it over the arc reactor. He sighed as she gently massaged the muscles around the foreign object, watching with a small smile as he relaxed into the pillows.

“Better?” she asked after a few minutes, getting a sleepy nod in response as his thumb found its way to his mouth. Normally she would tease him relentlessly about it -- that was what made their relationship work -- but it would be no fun if he was too tired to snark back. Instead she leaned down and kissed his forehead as he settled, watching his eyes fall shut and his breathing even out.

It was strange seeing her boyfriend like this. He looked so different from how he normally did, but in ways he was exactly the same. Well, he was the same. Perhaps more expressive than usual, but still Tony. Even so, it was awkward to think of this little boy as her boyfriend -- even though she knew his real age, she felt like a cradle robber. That, of course, didn't stop her caring for him, and she knew how this could affect him, so she did her best to act as she normally did. She was pleased when that seemed to make him happy, and more pleased when he noticed her discomfort and didn't push her to be romantically intimate. She was fine cuddling, kissing cheeks, holding hands… but anything more than that would feel too strange. It  _ was _ strange. But she knew anything she was going through was a million times worse for Tony. 

Not only that, but she knew his childhood was less than stellar. The least she could do now that he was a kid again was surround him with love and normalcy, and that's what she planned to do. Or, that's what she planned to have the Avengers do. She still had work -- blast Stark and his incredibly successful company that kept her constantly busy. Although how normal it could be living with a crew of super humans would have to be seen.

* * *

 

Tony woke up several times during the night, disoriented and in pain, yet always within minutes someone was there to calm the pain and soothe him back to sleep.

The first time it was Thor. He must not have been asleep too long, because it was nearly impossible to wake the Asgardian once he was asleep. He replaced the washcloth, took Tony’s hand, and began to sing richly, in a language Tony didn't recognize. It was calming, and warm, and he was back asleep quickly. 

The second time it was Steve, looking like a deer in headlights, and Tony happened to think through his tired haze that the others must've been playing a horrible prank on the poor captain. 

Steve was clearly not as apt at this as Thor was. He took a cool washcloth and wiped off Tony's face before putting a hand on his shoulder and simply standing there, a comforting strength. Tony wanted to laugh, but instead he rolled over and drifted back off as Steve watched his back. 

The third time was Clint, looking disgruntled and like he’d just rolled out of bed. He climbed under the covers with Tony and soothed his confused protests, rubbing circles into his back until he gave in and pressed close, falling asleep to the sound of Clint’s heartbeat and the smell of his cologne. 

The fourth time he woke up Clint was still in his room, sprawled out on the bed and snoring. Tony pushed himself off the archer’s chest, disoriented, his own chest burning enough that his eyes began to water. It was much too hot in the bed with both of them, and somehow the covers had ended up across the room. He looked up as the door opened quietly and Bruce walked in with a small smile. 

He was given another dose of children's Motrin and Clint was roused to return to his own room. His pajamas, uncomfortable with sweat, were traded for a large t-shirt and he was wiped down with a washcloth. The comforter was placed back on the bed and Tony was placed under it, cuddling his Hulk close. 

Bruce didn't sing or climb into bed. Bruce told a story. 

His voice was soft and soothing as he told of a hero in golden armor, who set out to eliminate war from the world. It didn't take long for Tony to fall asleep once more and dream of knights and battles. 

He didn't wake up again until sunlight was streaming through the window. He rose groggily, responding to JARVIS’s “ _ Good morning, sir _ ” with a very articulate grunt. He stumbled out into the hallway, hoping that one of the others was up; he wasn't confident in his ability to cook while standing on a chair. 

He was rather surprised to see not one or two, but all five of the other Avengers in the kitchen, nursing coffees and chatting easily. Bruce and Steve were making something that smelled delicious; Clint and Bruce both looked worse for wear, and Tony felt a pang of guilt, but not much. Thor boomed a good morning and Clint grunted in his general direction and he decided that it was good enough for how early he thought it was. 

He went over to where Bruce was standing in front of the stove, tugging on the back of his shirt. He was planning to ask when his next dose of Motrin was supposed to be, but instead his diaphragm decided to revolt, forcing the air out of his lungs with a small squeak. In the sudden silence of the kitchen he felt a mix of mortification and desperation; it felt like he had just been punched in the stomach by Thor without his armor, his lungs trying to invade a space that was currently occupied by the arc reactor, tearing themselves apart in the process. He heard Natasha laughing -- “Hiccups, Stark?” He decided to gasp in a breath in lieu of gracing her with a response, only to have it forced back out again with another spasm that knocked him to the ground, the breath leaving him with a high-pitched sob. He sat on his ass, staring up at Bruce as tears gathered in his eyes, trying to catch his breath enough to ask for help. 

He’d had hiccups before with the arc reactor, however, coincidentally, children had much less lung capacity than adults. He had no air -- he was suffocating, suffocating in a child’s body because of the hiccups. What a way to go. 

His throat was closing in fear, only making it worse, and he couldn’t help but remember the last horrifying time he couldn’t breathe, only that wasn’t because his own body was revolting but because his lungs were filling with water and drowning him from the inside. What a way to go. 

It was about the third hiccup, when he braced himself with his casted arm and clutched at the reactor with the other one, and when tears began to stream down his face in pain and terror, that the others seemed to realize something was wrong, and were instantly on their feet, crowding him and yelling; and oh God, they were taking all the air. He needed that air! He flailed, trying to push them away, and thankfully Bruce seemed to realize he was panicking and got the others to step back. 

“Tony,” Bruce said very calmly. The physicist was always calm and careful, the exact opposite of Tony. That was why they got along so well. “Tony, is there something wrong with the reactor?” He managed to shake his head, trying to force down the next spasm he knew was coming as his diaphragm tried to escape his chest, trembling. “You have the hiccups?” Bruce cautiously asked instead, looking for confirmation. He forced a small nod before his air was knocked away again and he clutched at Bruce’s shirt, desperate and scared. He was going to die because of the hiccups.  _ He was going to die because of the hiccups. What the fuck? _

Tony then discovered very quickly that, coincidentally, as children had smaller lung capacities they also had smaller oxygen reserves. His vision began to tunnel and he tried to focus on Bruce, to swallow down his panic. His friends wouldn’t let him die because of a stupid thing like the hiccups! 

...

Would they?

No, he wanted to go out in a burst of fire, doing something stupidly heroic like flying a nuclear missile through a portal into fucking space.  _ Jesus, Tony, do you need to panic yourself more?  _

There were hands all over him and it was  _ not _ helping. Someone was massaging the side of his neck, another pinching the skin between his thumb and forefinger hard enough to hurt, and someone was massaging his solar plexus, as if any of those would help. The worst was the person who was cupping their hand over his mouth. Hello, he was already having trouble breathing, you didn’t need to finish him off! He hoped they were trying to help and weren’t just winding him up; he really hoped it wouldn’t result in him fucking suffocating in the kitchen after turning into a child and getting the hiccups. 

The hiccups stopped quite suddenly and he could breathe. His lungs and chest were sore and he shoved the hand from his mouth as he pulled in desperate breaths. The other hands retreated soon afterwards, as did the tunnel vision, but he was already in full blown terror mode. He looked up at the worried and panicked faces of his friends, knowing he was still crying but too vulnerable to care. 

“Tony?” Natasha asked quietly, and his eyes snapped to her. Natasha; Natalie; Black Widow. She was safe, she was good. She had red hair. Pepper had red hair too. That was good right? She wasn’t big enough to drown him, though she probably still could anyway, but she wouldn’t because she was safe. Even Hulk liked her. If Hulk liked her that meant she was good. Tony liked to think Hulk liked him too. No, not Hulk, Natasha, it was Natasha staring at him with well-veiled concern. Some part of him was mortified when he let out a strangled sob and leapt at her, clinging to her and crying hysterically, but it wasn’t very big. He felt her tense under him before she gathered him into her arms, holding him close and rocking him slightly. 

“It’s alright,” she muttered, and he could feel her voice vibrating in her chest. He could breathe, and Natasha was safe, so it was okay, it would be okay. He wasn’t flying anything anywhere or surrounded by very large very angry men who might possibly accidentally drown him. He was with Natasha and she was good. She had already saved his life once, after all. Well, probably more than once. But he had saved the world once, so they were even. 

And he knew he was doing that thing where he thought too fast and too much but the panic and terror were still fresh and he couldn’t think slow enough to articulate anything more coherent than a whimper, which he knew would concern his friends who were used to the Stark Snark™ in every situation, but that seemed good enough for now. Natasha rocked and hummed, picking him up and going back to her seat as the others stared at them with some sort of... awe? Tony wasn’t sure, he wasn’t all that good at reading emotions since he wasn’t all that good at feeling them. Natasha sat down with him on her lap as he clutched at her top, the only thing grounding him. 

“It’s alright,” she said again, brushing hair back from his face and grabbing a napkin to dry his cheeks with. “Are you hungry?” He sniffled, managing to stop crying, and nodded, not trusting himself with words. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out in a whisper only loud enough for her to hear, his voice breaking. She shook her head and gave a small smile, and he was somehow reassured by that. 

“We were making pancakes and bacon,” was her only response as she shifted him slightly, reaching out to retrieve Tony’s Hulk from Clint, who had retrieved it. 

“You okay now, Tony?” Bruce asked, concern lacing his normally flat voice. Tony looked over and managed a small smile, nodding. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, rubbing his nose. “I’ve had hiccups before but it seems like they’re more dangerous now.” Clint snorted. 

“Just a little,” he muttered. 


	3. 3: Don't Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super sorry. Life got away from me and I forgot to update on here (you think it would be easier since it's already written). I'm posting two more chapters today to make up for it so look forward to those. Again, you can read ahead on fanfiction if you want to. And send me prompts if you want to see something happen!

Natasha found herself staring at the darkly blossoming bruise on Tony's temple as the boy clung to her, his Hulk toy tucked under his arm and his thumb in his mouth. It had probably happened in the battle yesterday -- God, was that only yesterday? God, was this even Stark?

She really didn't know what to make of this new boy in front of them. She felt they hadn't met him before, uncharted territory that acted as big as the older Stark but was far more fragile. It was immensely difficult for her, since she was the one who wrote Stark’s original report. Emotionally constipated, that man; the boy, not so much.

That boy needed her, and she found that she didn't mind all that much. Certainly she didn't love Stark, but she didn't dislike him, she didn't want him gone. God forbid anyone find out, but he was a good man and trustworthy in a fight.

This Stark was completely different and yet breathtakingly familiar. And he needed someone to care for him. If he wanted Natasha to be that person, so be it.

It had been shockingly terrifying, to see the hurt and crying boy and realize that it was Tony. She knew it was hard on Pepper and Tony and the others, and she needed to be a rock for them. If being a rock for Tony meant letting her motherly side show, so be it. She had long since decided she could trust these men with her life; maybe it was time to show more of herself. Not that she honestly hid anything.

As horrifying (and almost laughable) as it was to watch Tony choking on his own lungs, it was probably nothing to actually experiencing it. Natasha had fully expected him to jump to Bruce, the one he trusted the most; she only realized what was wrong when Tony flinched after Thor moved too fast in his line of sight. A five year old with PTSD. Should she talk to the SHIELD psychiatrist about it? She really did sound like his mother.

But it _was_ Bruce who coaxed the shell-shocked little boy into drinking chocolate milk and taking medicine and eating breakfast. It was Clint who joked with him and convinced him to watch some terrible movie together after breakfast. And it was Steve who decided to join them.

At some point during the movie, which Clint and Tony narrated together, thanks to Steve and a golden sharpie Tony’s cast turned into a near perfect replica of his Iron Man gauntlet. It delighted Steve that Tony was delighted. He immediately pointed his fake repulsor at Clint and pretended to fire while Clint shouted “No fair!” and “Friendly fire!” It turned into friendly pokes and jabs while Steve took cover behind a pillow, until Tony gasped and curled up, saying something nearly incoherent about pain in his chest. Then Bruce was there to soothe him, Steve hovering anxiously and unsure how to help and Clint grabbing Tony’s Hulk and giving it to him.

It took a cooling ointment, icepacks, rubbing, and some coddling, but eventually Tony fell asleep, sprawled comfortably on his back across the sofa while Clint trailed fingers through his curls, a gesture all the Avengers had quickly noticed was now comforting to him. They took a few silent seconds to watch the sleeping figure, making sure he was calm and comfortable, before breathing out a sigh. This was harder than expected.

It was about then that Natasha and Thor came striding in with purpose. “We have been summoned,” Thor whispered in a voice quieter than any they thought he could make, noticing Tony sleeping.

“Fury said it was urgent,” Natasha added. Steve looked at Tony uneasily.

“Should we wake him?” he asked softly, glancing at Bruce for guidance.

“No, he didn’t get much sleep last night and today has been tough on him so far. Besides, it’s not like he could help us. It would be better to let him sleep.”

“Is someone coming to watch him?” Clint asked Natasha. She shook her head.

“He’s not actually a kid. He can look after himself.”

“Yeah, because he does that so well when he’s an adult.” Natasha was honestly uneasy about it, but she parroted what Fury had told her when she had asked the same question herself. She shrugged at the sarcastic retort.

“JARVIS, if Tony wakes up before we get back tell him where we are and call us,” Bruce said to the A.I.

“ _Of course, Dr. Banner._ ”

* * *

 

It was far later when Tony woke up, rolling off the couch and rubbing his eyes blearily, yawning. “ _Good afternoon, sir,_ ” JARVIS said, making Tony jump a bit. “ _Do you feel better now?_ ” He nodded, stretching with a deep sigh.

“Time?” he asked groggily, looking around for his companions.

“ _2:47 PM sir. The Avengers were called out on a mission. Dr. Banner told me to let you know they would be back by dinner time._ ” He nodded, stumbling toward the kitchen to find something to drink. A few quiet minutes passed as Tony’s brain ran through its startup sequence before JARVIS spoke again. “ _Sir, Dr. Banner ordered me to inform him when you woke, however I am having trouble connecting to him- However I am having trouble connecting to him._ ” Tony froze and glanced up, blinking slowly.

“JARVIS, is there something wrong?” His trusty A.I. paused, almost hesitated.

“ _Yes, sir, I believe there is._ ”

“Shit!”

He dropped the glass he was holding, darting back into the living room and snatching up a Stark Pad, his fingers flying over the screen as he searched through lines of code, calling out orders to JARVIS. “Initiate protocol 712. Give them a run for their money, J, don’t let them in. I’ll backtrack to get their location.”

“ _Yes, sir._ ”

Adrenaline pelted through him, fear and anger mixed in equal portions: fear that someone was attacking him, that the Avengers could be in danger, and anger that someone _dared_ to touch what was his, to try and hurt JARVIS. There was tense silence as he and his creation worked in tandem.

The gasp Tony let out was unbidden and harsh, drawing the blood away from his face. “Lockdown, JARVIS, lockdown!” he shouted as he ran to grab the gun hidden in his kitchen -- there were several around the apartments that no one knew about, a precaution and a bad habit he hadn’t been able to get rid of since Obadiah, though he didn’t know if he’d have the muscle memory to shoot it as he was now. “Shut everything down! No one in or out!” They were in the building, _fuck, they were in the building._ How did they get in the building? And when he had no means of protection either.

It was too late, he realized as the elevator doors swung open and several of the floor-to-ceiling windows smashed to pieces. He flung himself to the ground, covering his head and face to avoid the flying glass, looking up with fresh terror at the strangers who marched from the elevator, glancing at the robots he unfortunately recognized who stalked towards him with merciless purpose. He scrambled to his feet, cutting his palms and soles on broken glass, instinctively backing away as his breath quickened with unnatural fear, bringing up bad memories.

It didn’t matter. More robots crashed in, making him flinch against the wall for protection, and metal fingers grabbed him, holding him with bruising force and dragging him easily. Why were they here? The robots they had fought yesterday, before all this shit happened?

It was an easy conclusion to come to, but one he didn’t want to acknowledge. Unwilling, he felt burning tears drip down his cheeks, tasting the salt, and he heard one of the men begin to laugh, sparking harsh shame. He looked up and realized who it was. It was that man, that stupid, _crazy_ man who had injected him with that strange substance and turned him into _this_ . The man was wearing a lab coat, five others behind him holding machine guns and sporting Kevlar, and twenty robots at Tony’s back, all brutally inhuman, and the man was _laughing_ because Tony was _terrified_. His knees were shaking and he was practically being supported by the three metal men holding him -- one on each arm, and one with a fist in his hair, tugging his black curls harshly.

And the man walked forward.

Tony froze in horror and alarm, every instinct screaming in a cacophony telling him to fight with everything he had, but logic dictating he stay still in self-preservation. It was only when the man knelt, bringing him to Tony’s height, that Tony realized how dreadfully _small_ he was, and fragile, and damn breakable and easily taken, and there was _nothing he could do_ . He might be kidnapped, he might be killed here, and there was _nothing he could do_.

He sobbed.

The man chuckled, trailed his fingers along the edge of the arc reactor, and Tony felt his breath freeze completely, water vapor turned to ice in his lungs, overtaken by panic. But the man looked up again, smiled a bit, and patted Tony on the cheek, talking over his shoulder to one of the soldiers behind him.

“No sign of the effects yet. We’re going to try some external stimulus.” He tilted his head, looking Tony in the eyes, and the boy was frozen like he was staring at a basilisk. The fact that he was an adult and a superhero no less, and wasn’t supposed to be afraid of something like this or, at the very least, show the fear after all he had been through, didn’t occur to him in the slightest. The dreadful desire that Natasha or Bruce or Clint were there was growing into a physical ailment, fear making his stomach churn.

“You know,” the man said after a few minutes, “it’s been painfully easy to catch you alone, Mr. Stark. _Twice_.” Tony had no response. “Of course, this time no one is coming to save you. Your friends already have one foot in the grave.”

And there it was, the realization Tony didn’t want to acknowledge: it was all a trap. All for him, and he had no idea why. It was like the ceiling had come crashing down around him -- his mind, as it was now, couldn’t comprehend the idea that the Avengers were gone. It was simply _impossible_ . Those assholes never died! Steve probably couldn’t die anymore, he had been frozen for how long; could demigods die? Thor would be fine, at least, right? Hulk wouldn’t let Bruce die, no matter what happened; Natasha and Clint always found a way to get through sticky situations; he was the weak link here, how could _they_ be dead?! No no no, there was no way, just no way. This guy was lying.

“ _Liar!_ ” he found himself screeching at the top of his lungs, his face turning red, sounding every bit the bratty, spoiled little kid he was. “ _Liar! Liar! Liar!_ ” This guy was trying to provoke him. Maybe they wouldn’t come in time, but there was no way they were _dead_ . They _couldn’t_ die. There was _no way_ . “ _Liar! Liar! Lia-_ oof!”

The air was knocked out of him, pain rocketing through his abdomen, and his first thought was _Oh God, I’ve been shot. I’m going to die_.

But no, there was no blood, just immense pain, and it took a few seconds for his brain to catch up and realize that all the pain was caused by a sharp punch to the stomach, presumably meant to shut him up, which had worked as intended. And he realized, as he tried to curl into himself, that small things hurt a lot more to children than to adults. His head snapped to the side and a cut opened on his cheek as the man slapped him, snarling “Shut up, Stark.”

He began to cry earnestly, sobbing as soon as he had the breath to, wailing. “JARVIS! Bruce! N-Natasha! Natasha h-help!”

And, _oh my God_ , there she was, with a nicely placed kick to the man’s face that elicited an audible and very satisfying crack, with Thor and Steve rushing behind Tony to engage the robots in heated, loud, _terrifying_ battle. He was let go and couldn’t support himself, collapsing on his knees in broken glass, and Natasha and Clint were at his side, both looking at him with concern and anger.

“Tony,” Natasha said quietly, brushing hair off his face affectionately, and he leaned into her touch, need it, craved it, wanted it to take the fear away, the pain. “Tony, did they hurt you?” All he could manage was a sob, once again leaping into her arms, clinging to her tightly as choking cries escaped him. She held him close, rubbing his back, and he could feel Clint gently checking him for head wounds in between picking off robots that came too close, both murmuring quiet reassurances and comforting him.

The sounds of battle died off quickly and left a ringing in his ears that he covered up with his own crying, his fists twisted in Natasha’s shirt, Clint’s hand rubbing up and down his back, both prompting him to respond. His own shout was still ringing in his head -- ‘ _Liar!_ ’

“I knew it!” he finally cried, sobbing weakly. “I knew he was lying! I knew you c-couldn’t die! I knew you w-wouldn’t l-l-leave me!”

“Never, Tony,” Natasha mumbled in his ear.

“You know us, we’re invincible,” Clint said behind him. “We’re here for you. We’ve got your back.”

They were all crowded around him and Natasha, Bruce looking distinctly green and Thor looking about to level Manhattan with lightning, staring down at the shivering billionaire with worry. Bruce looked at Natasha and Clint, taking a deep breath. “How did you know?”

“Know w-what?” Tony asked, sniffling and wiping at his face, not even embarrassed anymore.

“We were halfway to the mission point when the two turned the ship around,” Steve explained. “They said it was a trap. How did you know?”

“Instinct,” was the assassins’ answer, and that was good enough for Tony. Steve and Bruce didn’t seem convinced, but it didn’t matter.

“JARVIS,” Tony mumbled, looking up at Natasha. “I have to fix JARVIS. They hurt him.”

“Alright,” she said, lifting him and settling him on her hip, picking up the somehow whole Stark Pad. “I’m going to check you over first. Pepper had to fly out for some meetings, she’ll be back tomorrow morning.” He nodded, finding his thumb in his mouth, and looked up as Clint held out a dusty Hulk plush which he took gratefully.

The adults started whispering together and Tony couldn’t bother himself to listen, slowly relaxing as the terror and adrenaline faded. He rested his head on Natasha’s arm, staring around his demolished living room, and his eyes fell to the bruised and bloody men, drawn by the chilling glint of a brandished gun. His breath was drawn away, the only warning he could give the others a choking gasp.

It was enough, because Steve had seen it too. He leapt into Tony’s line of sight and then Clint’s hand was over Tony’s eyes, Natasha shifting underneath him as warmth covered the side of his face and arm. It took him several minutes to realize the darkness was no longer caused by Clint’s hand but by his own eyes squeezing shut, and several more to notice that the ringing wasn’t only caused by the aftermath of a gunshot but by his own screaming. He choked himself off quickly, gasping in a breath before opening his eyes.

Natasha was staring back at him; she was talking, he could tell because her lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear her. The left side of her face was splattered in blood, and he could feel the same sick liquid dripping down the right side of his, but it wasn’t theirs. He couldn’t stop staring at it, and his shoulders were trembling. His hands were clutched so tight around something that it hurt, and he looked down slowly.

The toy wavered like it was underwater, crimson droplets staining its fabric, and he dropped it like he had been burned, staring at the shaking of his hands. Natasha’s slender hands enfolded his small ones, and he realized how cold he was. He looked back up and found Natasha’s face wavering in the same watery way, and some part of him whispered it was because there were tears in his eyes, but he didn’t comprehend that part.

Suddenly he could hear again and Natasha was calling his name, looking halfway between murderous and tears, and his brain was working overdrive to catch up with what his instincts had already shuddered at.

The cry was nearly ripped from his lips like a physical force, full of anguish and desperation, and it drew nothing but silence from the others. “Steve! S-Steve- Steve, S-s- S-s-st-” And nothing more would come out but wrenching sobs that doubled him over with their force, pain in his chest spiking. It _hurt._ Everything _hurt_ and he wanted it to _stop_.

It didn’t make sense.

That man, that cruel man in the lab coat (he didn’t think he would ever be able to see Bruce working again without remembering his terror) had shot Steve, and now Steve was _gone_ . He was dead, right? Tony wasn’t ever going to see him again, hear him again, feel him again, just like he wouldn’t see his mom or dad or Jarvis or Miss Peggy. And it didn’t make _sense_ , and it _should’ve_ made sense, he knew it should’ve made sense, and it _hurt._ Mommy and Daddy and Jarvis were supposed to be there with him, comforting him like they always did when he cried, or at least Jarvis was supposed to be, but they weren’t because they had been gone for _years_ , they were dead and he wasn’t going to see them again but that didn’t make sense because _they were supposed to be there and they couldn’t be gone._ It just _didn’t_ make _sense_ and it _hurt_ . Why were they gone? People had told him he could see them again but they were wrong, he had never seen them since then. Since when? They were supposed to be here, they were _supposed_ to be _here_. Inside him was a screaming match between a child and an adult, his body ravaged by terror and shock, his mind aching with cognitive dissonance from Hell. And all that came out were cries.

Sharp, gasping, gut-wrenching cries that retreated with sore muscles and breathlessness and stole away appetite, that twisted at the hearts of adults who heard them and made them think that something was very, very physically wrong. The kind that brought other children to tears for the sheer empathy of the pain expressed in them, and he couldn’t stop them. The adult part of him was screaming, screaming, screaming at him to _man up_ damn it. He was Iron Man, he was Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, and none of those things cried. That was why the Iron Man mask was so expressionless in the first place. But he couldn’t, because it didn’t make sense, but it was supposed to make sense, but it _didn’t fucking make sense._

Natasha was staring at him like she had been shot, and some adult part of him was trying to strangle himself just to force away the weakness, but none of that mattered because he could hear Steve whispering in his ear. It didn’t matter what he was whispering; that was inconsequential to the fact that Steve was whispering at all, because Tony was _absolutely positive_ he was dead and he and Natasha were now dripping with Captain America’s blood. He whipped around and was face to face with concern-laced baby blues, and he realized he must have been wrong. And for once in his life, he adored the fact that he was wrong.

He leapt on Steve as his sobs settled back into something that would be considered normal on a playground, clutching at the stars and stripes and craving touch, craving comfort, craving it to be real. Thor was blocking his view of something, but blood was strewn across him, Natasha, Clint, Steve, and the walls, so he assumed he didn’t want to know. Steve cradled him close, muscles shifting, and crooned quietly. “It’s okay, Tony. I’m okay, he didn’t hurt me. You’re okay. We’re all okay. Just calm down, it’s going to be fine, you’re perfectly fine.” A hand was in his hair and he realized it was Natasha, gently calming him, humming something that he focused on in order not to focus on anything else.

“I th-thought he had _shot_ y-ou,” he managed to stutter out, shaking and looking up at Steve, who was stricken at how small and scared and vulnerable Tony Stark could look. “I thought you w-were _gone_ like Mommy and Daddy and Jarvis. I thought you l-left and it didn’t make s-sense.” He took in a shuddering breath as his mind began to race again, going nowhere but in circles, like a hamster on a wheel. “I-It’s supposed to make sense but it didn’t and- and-”

“Hey, I’m okay,” Steve said softly, trying to calm the panicking boy. “He didn’t hurt me. He didn’t hurt anyone, I promise. JARVIS is going to he fine too, you’ll fix him.” And Tony realized they were not on the same page about who Jarvis was, but he was too exhausted to correct him, and instead tried to stop the persistent tears that were now flowing because of the deep ache that seemed to be his entire being.

“Tony?”

He whipped around. Bruce was sitting behind them, cross-legged on the floor, staring at him with such immense concern Tony could’ve hit himself.

But it was Bruce, and Bruce was good. Bruce could always help him find the answers, Bruce could take the pain away and help him understand why it didn’t make sense. Bruce was good, and safe. Natasha was safe too. Was Steve safe? Maybe he was safe. He hadn’t hurt him, and he was Captain America, and Captain America was good. Captain America punched Hitler in the face. Maybe Captain America would punch Middle Eastern terrorists in the face too, if he asked. Okay, so Captain America was good, and since Captain America was good, Steve had to be good too, because Steve was Captain America. But he didn’t need Captain America right now, he needed Bruce, because Bruce had the medicine and the cool stories and Hulk, and oh God, Hulk was still on the floor covered in blood, and that would be a bad memory for sure, but Hulk wasn’t the problem because he needed Bruce right now to help him understand why it didn’t make sense.

So he crawled over to Bruce, and the adults realized that Tony didn’t know he had just said his entire internal monologue aloud. Steve was slightly shocked at his assessment, and silently agreed that if Tony asked, he would punch whoever he wanted in the face. Natasha didn’t understand why she was safe, after all she had done to Tony, but she was glad she was. Bruce was just worried about how he was going to take the pain away when he had no idea the proper dosage of narcotics for children.

Bruce pulled Tony close, gently trying to rub the tension out of the boy’s back, and spoke before Tony had a chance too, because he could see the emotional distress Tony was in and needed to stop it before it got any worse. “Hey Tony, can you tell me what pi is?”

Tony’s racing mind froze, backtracked, and then abandoned its train of thought for a new one altogether. Of course he could tell Bruce pi, who did they think he was? He wouldn’t be an engineer or a genius if he couldn’t at least do that. “Three-point-one-four-one-five-nine-two-six-”

“Alright,” Bruce chuckled as Tony scowled at him, both from being interrupted and from being asked something stupid. “Guess that was too easy for you. Do you know the square root of pi?”

“One-point-seven-seven-two-four-five-three-eight-”

Tony didn’t notice Steve leaving the room to retrieve washcloths, blankets, and clean clothes. He didn’t notice Clint talking frantically (and angrily) on the phone with SHIELD. He didn’t notice Thor taking off his cape and covering the body of the scientist, which no longer had a brain. He didn’t notice Natasha pulling out her phone and searching for something. He was focused on Bruce, because Bruce was asking him something. He knew these answers. They were simple. They made sense.

“Tony.” It was Natasha talking now, and his head snapped over to her. Steve had returned and her face was clean, a stained washcloth abandoned behind her. It didn’t occur to him how scared it made him to see her bloodied until it was washed away, and he reached out to touch her cheek, leaving a smear of his own blood behind. He blinked, looking down at his hands, cut open from the glass on the ground. She smiled at him, wiping off her face again as Steve gently took his hands, cleaning them gingerly. Bruce shifted, cradling him more securely, and he was finally starting to feel safe again, if shaken. “You may be a genius, but I bet you suck at riddles,” Natasha teased, hoping he was calmed down enough to take it light-heartedly. He scoffed and their prayers were answered.

“I’m a genius. I’m the _boss_ at riddles, Romanoff.” He smiled, then hissed when Steve hit a tender area, biting his lip. Okay, he wasn’t back to normal. But he was getting there.

“Alright. Riddle me this, then. You always find me in the past. I can be created in the present, but the future can never taint me. What am I?” Tony’s eyebrows scrunched together as he thought.

“Memories?” he muttered, before correcting himself in a louder voice. “No, history!”

Natasha was honestly impressed, not that Tony got the answer right (since she knew he would) but by how fast he got the answer. Thor started clapping thunderously.

“Our Man of Iron is a genius indeed!” he boomed, and a small giggle escaped the little boy.

“It’s not like that one was even hard. You’re not even giving me a challenge!”

Clint was off the phone now, crouching next to Steve with a box of bandaids, which Tony’s hands were now coated liberally in. The two had moved onto his feet, while Bruce was wiping at his face, a small bandaid covering the cut the slap had caused. They were all trying their best to push down their anger so Tony wouldn’t think they were angry at him, because that’s exactly what he would think and they knew it. Clint was trying to convey with his eyes that they needed to move Tony before SHIELD came busting in, but the rest had already reached the same conclusion, and Thor found the solution when Tony pressed closer to Bruce, suppressing a yawn.

“Are you tired, friend Anthony?”

“No!” Tony answered quickly, looking panicked, and it took a moment for them to realize why.

“We won’t leave again, Tony,” Clint promised quietly. “It’s okay for you to sleep.” But the young genius started to tremble, shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Natasha whispered, staring in his watery eyes, trying to convey her sincerity. “We won’t leave. We’ll be there whenever you wake up.” He stared before shaking his head again, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I have to fix JARVIS.”

“ _My apologies sir. Some of my processors were damaged and I have had a hard time maintaining communication with you as well as fighting off the attack. The attack has been neutralized and my remaining processors are functioning at a normal level. I will be alright until you find the time to repair me._ ” Tony jumped at the stuttering voice of his A.I., but he seemed to relax, bunching up his shoulders before nodding. They almost missed his whisper.

“Don’t leave.”

Natasha scooped him up, pressing his face to her shoulder while she carried him past the carnage. He didn’t mind it. He had no desire to see it anyway. The others trailed after them, Clint stopping to kick one of the bodies, and he kept his face covered until he heard the door to his new bedroom opening. Natasha turned away while the others helped him get cleaned up and changed, and he crawled into the bed, realizing again how cold he was. His arms felt empty, and he couldn’t help calling out just to make sure JARVIS was still there. The others gathered around his bed, dragging chairs from other rooms, giving him a silent promise that they weren’t leaving his side.

“Clint?” he asked in a small voice, feeling stupid but needy. And that was all the assassin needed to climb into bed with his friend, pulling him close and stroking his hair. They saw Tony visibly relax, his eyes shutting almost immediately, but his breathing didn’t calm into something like sleep until Thor began to sing softly. They watched him for a few minutes to make sure he wouldn’t settle into a nightmare before they did anything.

“He was really cold,” Natasha whispered, and Bruce nodded.

“He was going into shock,” the man whispered back, and now that they weren’t focusing on Tony they all noticed how tightly his fists were clenched, and how much control he must’ve been exercising. “He’s going to need a lot of warmth and a lot of fluids.”

“You guys should go talk to Fury and make sure they aren’t too loud,” Clint whispered, shifting slightly. “JARVIS, are you well enough to notify them if Tony starts to wake up?”

“ _Yes, Agent Barton_.” His volume was low, and they could sense a note of hesitation. “ _Will sir be alright_?”

“He’ll be okay,” Steve muttered, trying to reassure himself as much as anyone else. “This is Tony Stark. We’ll get him through this.”

“You are staying with young Anthony?” Thor asked quietly, looking at Clint. The archer nodded.

“I don’t want to leave him like this. Especially after what just happened. I don’t think I’d be able to get up without waking him, either.” Natasha smirked, trying for some weak humor.

“You just want to take a nap while the rest of us work.” He grinned, shrugging.

“It’s a plus.”


	4. 4: Stressed Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter sucks. Feel free to send prompts!

“What the hell happened?” Fury fumed as the elevator door opened before he was surrounded by furious Avengers, all shushing him angrily. He was so shocked by the treatment he was actually silent, and was glaring at them about to speak when Natasha cut him off.

“What happened?” she hissed. “What happened is Stark is being targeted, and we don’t know how or why. What happened is we were called on a mission and then told it was a trap-” she ignored Fury’s interruption of “So Barton did get my transmission” and forged on “-and returned to find Stark being attacked, and we had left him without any defence. What happened is Stark was turned into a child, and despite actually being an adult he cannot care for himself right now as an Avenger needs to, and we did exactly what they wanted us to do. What happened is a little boy who is already having trouble with what he’s been through was terrorized and brutalized, and no one was there to defend him or stop it. What is _going_ to happen is someone is going to be with Tony at all times now, and it’s going to be an Avenger.” She finished her quiet tirade with a small huff. Fury contemplated how to respond, but couldn’t really deny any of what she said. She had either shocked or terrified the agents behind him into silence.

“Stark is a grown man, no matter what he looks like now-”

“No,” was all Bruce said, a low growl, but it was enough. Even Fury knew not to get on his bad side. The doctor took a deep breath before looking at Steve and whispering “I need to tap out.” He slowly made his way down the hall while Steve crossed his arms and glared, something the director never thought the loyal Captain would do to a superior.

“Tony is sleeping right now,” he said softly, voice full of warning. “ _Don’t_ wake him.”

It was incredible the change that had come over the Avengers. Each regarded Tony with some distaste (except Bruce), some with more distaste than others, but the amount of protectiveness they felt for the man was unrivalled, and they knew he felt the same about them (even before his hysterical display). They were a team, and even if they disliked each other sometimes they worked well and had each proved themselves in their own way. The protectiveness and -- none of them would admit it if he asked -- _care_ they felt for Tony was amplified with him in the state he was. Fury clenched his jaw, working to control the urge to shout and demand. He knew it would get him nowhere with this lot.

“Um, excuse me, Captain,” a medical assistant said in a soft voice as they stepped out of the elevator, meeting Steve’s eyes. “We received word there was an injured agent?” Steve’s expression softened.

“That was Tony,” he said softly back. “You can see him when he wakes up. It didn’t seem immediately urgent.”

Fury resisted the urge to shout, clenching his fists. “Captain, report.”

“We were on our way to the mission point when Natasha and Clint turned the quinjet around and told us it was a trap. When we arrived there was a missionary group and several of the robots present yesterday at the... incident. They were...” He paused for a moment, thinking, a fleeting moment of anger crossing his face. “Interrogating Tony. We dispatched them and attempted to calm Stark down, during which the leader... scientist... whoever he was, apparently woke up and pulled a gun out of somewhere.” He gestured to the walls. “I think you can guess the rest.” He glanced around at the destruction and the agents picking over it, the horrified face of one as they lifted the edge of Thor’s cape up. “Cyanide capsules were so much cleaner,” he muttered. Fury shook his head, but couldn’t deny it. He still didn’t get a clear picture, but it was enough that he could wait for a formal briefing.

“JARVIS, send me the footage of what went down.”

“ _I’m afraid I won’t, Director Fury_ ,” the A.I. answered after a moment, and Fury felt his anger spark again.

“What do you mean you won’t?”

“ _I am not going to hand over the footage to SHIELD. Sir would not want you to see it._ ”

“Fine,” he growled. “Let’s start clearing up here. We wouldn’t want delicate Mister Stark to see.” He got a round of glares.

Glass was swept and blood was cleaned and bodies cleared away. The room was straightened as a contractor, used to the Avengers and the damage to the tower, argued over the phone as quietly as possible, trying to replace the windows. The Avengers dutifully helped where needed, responding in mutters or glares when asked where Clint was. Even Thor seemed less jovial.

It was about an hour later when JARVIS spoke again, his voice rushed. “ _Avengers, sir is stirring_.” That was all they needed to drop (literally in some cases) whatever they were doing and rush out of the room, approaching Tony’s door quietly and slipping into their respective chairs to make it seem like they hadn’t moved at all. Bruce and Natasha even had the tact to grab books and make it seem like they had settled. Fury could be heard, faintly, through the door, ranting about goddamn superheros. Clint was stroking Tony’s hair and shushing the shifting boy, looking up at them anxiously. ‘Nightmares?’ Steve mouthed, and Clint nodded, making a face.

‘This whole time. This one is pretty bad.’ And it probably said a lot about how close they were that even Thor and Bruce, who weren’t used to reading lips, could understand. They all looked at their now-youngest, watching as the assassin stroked black curls and the sheets writhed.

It didn’t take long before Tony jerked up in bed, jolting right out of Clint’s grip, grasping at the covers and panting. He looked around, met them each in the eye, and seemed somewhat reassured by the thought they hadn’t left -- or, at least, he assumed they had left, and was reassured by the thought that they cared enough to rush back and make it seem like they hadn’t.

In all honesty, the others didn’t know what to expect. Perhaps some crying, or clinging, or maybe just for Tony to sink back into bed and fall asleep again, like a normal child would, or at least the child that he was displaying earlier would. Instead, he gripped the arc reactor like he was grounding himself and rasped out “JARVIS,” in a strong voice, in a voice that sounded so much like his normal voice he had the others doing a double take.

“ _Yes, sir?_ ”

“JARVIS, talk.”

“ _Of course sir. You are in Stark Tower in New York City. It is the 18th of the month, nice and sunny out, with no clouds in sight-_ ”

“Age,” he interrupted suddenly, and all the Avengers could think to do was sit and watch in stunned and confused silence.

“ _Pardon sir?_ ”

“Age. My age. Give me my age.” And to anyone else hearing that voice it would not have sounded pleading, but to them it did.

“ _Forty-three, sir. Would you like me to show you footage-_ ”

“No, JARVIS,” Tony cut off with a small smirk. “I know what happened at my last birthday.” Natasha smirked with him. It was quiet for a second. “Again,” Tony muttered in a softer voice, bringing his knees up and burying his face in them. “My age, JARVIS.”

“ _Of course, sir. You are forty-three years old. Would you like your birth date as well?_ ” Tony shook his head, and the others could practically feel what was racing through his mind:

‘I’m an adult. I’m not a kid. I don’t have to be scared. I’m an adult. I’m in my forties. This is just temporary. I’m definitely an adult.’

Or maybe not, because a second later Tony chuckled, looking up at them and trying for a small smile that looked a bit too forced. “Haven’t had that one in a while.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he was talking about the nightmare.

“Mind telling us about it?” Bruce asked, cautiously interested, and Tony sighed, settling back against Clint, who looked both stunned and elated, considering their teammate seemed almost back to his normal temperament and wasn’t normally a fan of skinship. Maybe it was a sign of trust, or maybe it was some childish longing for human contact, but they would never know.

“It was just about Howard.” Steve never missed the fact that Howard Stark was never ‘dad’ to Tony, and prudently learned that, no matter what he thought of his old friend, he should shut up about him around Tony. Tony did the same around Steve, and they had reached an understanding to see him differently. “Because...” He stopped and sighed again, looking down, but not looking nervous, just sort of tired. “Because, well, that guy hit me. And I’m smaller now, and it all just reminded me of when I was a kid, and I _hated_ being a kid. So, I had a nightmare.”

They were surprised by the honesty he was giving them, even if he _had_ just had a meltdown in front of them only an hour prior. “You’re talkative today,” Natasha remarked quietly, and Tony laughed a bit, smiling at her.

“No point in lying about something that you clearly saw, especially after my little show earlier.” He shrugged, and glanced at them. “This is... it’s hard. I know what I’m saying and doing perfectly fine, but it’s like there’s a child and an adult inside my head screaming at each other, and whoever screams the loudest wins control. It’s... strange. I don’t know how to explain it. Not exactly pleasant. So, maybe child me is more honest, and that’s why I’m telling you this.” His eyes sparkled, and they suspected that wasn’t the case. They were all on the merry way to a solid, trusting team before this, but the whole thing seemed to have cemented for Tony that they would take care of his secrets and not take him for granted (probably because they hadn’t made fun of him, as he had expected them to; there would be plenty of time for that later, though)

“So, a nightmare about your dad?” Natasha met his eye, trailing off softly, and he smiled wryly at her.

“Now that, I won’t talk about. Not without a whole lot more Dayquil. Not yet.” They heard the promise that soon, soon he could open up to them enough to tell them, but not yet. He sat up, pulling away from Clint with a sigh, and they saw as he began to close himself off again, no way for them to stop it. He rubbed at his chest, looking uncomfortable.

“Are you in pain, my friend?” Thor boomed, nearly startling Tony out of his skin after the quiet. He made a so-so gesture.

“I’m high on adrenaline right now from the nightmare. It’ll probably come back full force soon.” He winced. “I’m pretty sure I remember a dude punching me.” His friends immediately tensed, and although he knew it wasn’t directed at him he drew away instinctively from the flaming anger in their eyes.

“I remember that as well,” Steve growled, and Bruce took a few calming breaths. Tony waved them off, his mask back in place.

“It’s no big deal. I can handle being thrown around.”

“We don’t doubt that you can, little dude,” Clint said, ruffling his hair and earning a glare. “Hell, how many buildings have you broken with your face? But that’s with your suit... and normal sized. You need to be more careful.”

“Blah blah blah, I always need to be more careful. I’m not going to let you guys take care of me just because I’m feeling a little emotional and I’m smaller now.”

“Tony, kids can’t do the same things you’re used to doing,” Bruce said gently, clearly restraining himself. Tony rolled his eyes.

“What, drinking? I haven’t been, in case you haven’t noticed. Saving the world? Well yeah, idiot, I need to make a suit my size first. Building things? Do you know how young I was when I made my first engine? Reaching the top cabinets? That’s what chairs are for.”

“No standing on chairs!” Steve scolded, and Tony rolled his eyes again, smirking slightly.

“You guys are too stressed out.”

“Why aren’t you more stressed out?” Natasha challenged.

“I’m always stressed out. If I let this get to me I wouldn’t be able to function.”


	5. 5: Adjusting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from a guest on ff.net: "How about you have tony wet the bed and the others comfort him even tho the adult part of his brain is super embarrassed". Feel free to send me other prompts!

Pain had simply become a fact of life. There was no remembrance of a time before it. It was a blessing and reminder of survival, survival ten times over, fought for harder than most people fought for anything. That didn’t mean he had to be grateful. 

With pain came the terrors. He refused to call them nightmares. It gave them a name, gave them strength. No, these were his own, they were his terrors. True, they haunted him, but not only at night. The name would be wrong, and it would be acknowledgement of a problem. There was no problem. There was nothing wrong with him.

He had gotten a handle on them recently... he thought. No longer. Not since the pain was so much worse now.

It only took him another night to realize that JARVIS must’ve been waking the others whenever he stirred, and he promptly ordered the A.I. to stop. He couldn’t disturb them at all times of the night with weakness. They already saw him as useless enough in this form, there was no need to reveal any more than he already had. 

It was far worse after he abandoned the Hulk they had gotten him. True, it made him feel childish and stupid, and he really only got it because of the look on Bruce’s face (at least, that was the story he would stick with), but it also brought him comfort. He had never feared Hulk. The Jolly Green Giant had saved him more than once, and he felt there was a trust there that he sometimes didn’t have with the others on the team. Not to mention Bruce was probably his best friend besides Rhodey. He missed sleeping next to Pepper, which just seemed wrong now, and having something to hold on to like he loved to hold her was comforting when he was trying to sleep. But seeing it, despite Steve and Pepper’s repeated scrubbing of it until there were no traces of the tragedy left, made his heart thump painfully against the reactor and red memories burn behind his eyes; and once he calmed down enough he had realized what had happened, and there it was, another sin in his ledger, another death caused by him. He couldn’t touch the toy anymore. He just couldn’t. 

Not to mention he had insomnia on the best of days. His normal solution was to cuddle with a dozing Pepper or tinker in his workshop, but both were no longer options. Stress made it worse: the fight inside his head, the fear that he would be stuck this way, the anxiety that someone would come after him again, and the tension that started when the news began to talk of his disappearance. He was terrified to go outside, for fear of being recognized. Worries and racecars sped around his mind when he laid down to sleep, and he found himself staying up until exhaustion, building himself a mini repulsor he could power with a battery and put on his palm, easy to hide in a pocket or up a sleeve. It took much longer to make than usual, improvising tools and trying not to disturb the others. He had JARVIS and Dum-E bring him needed parts from his workshop and made sure his desk was always organized before morning so it didn’t betray his nighttime activities to the others. 

The team made him feel worse.

He knew they noticed his growing restlessness and conflicting exhaustion. He hated being cooped up, but he felt too sluggish to move, and too scared to go anywhere. It didn’t help that they couldn’t decide whether to treat him as a child or adult. One moment they would be crooning like he was a small kid, and the next (inevitably when he did something he shouldn’t have) they were yelling about how irresponsible he was and how he should know better and needed to take care of himself more now that he was like this and didn’t he know that? He wished they would just choose to see him as one or the other -- he honestly didn’t care which at this point. It wasn’t worth it to fight them and himself as well. 

Steve offered to draw with him, and Tony was slightly put-off but too tired to argue, expecting crayons and a coloring book. Instead the soldier shared charcoal pencils and sketchbook paper, and Tony was pleased. Drawing was calming and steadied his hands, soothing his racing mind. He was, however, unable to translate the picture in his mind onto the paper, a problem he had never run into before (being an engineer, he was rather good at drawing as well). Steve found it very entertaining to watch his frustration, patronizingly soothing that children didn’t have the same coordination as adults did. 

Clint tried to teach him how to shoot, but he could tell the archer wasn’t taking it seriously. Natasha, at least, was straightforward enough. She acted like she hated him most of the time, which was normal, unless he was obviously upset, at which point she would pick him up and place him on her hip, bouncing him like a child. It was simultaneously confusing and humiliating. Pepper didn’t act any different, but sometimes he could see the lost look on her face, and could tell she didn’t know what to do with him any more than he knew what to do with himself. Bruce treated him even gentler than usual, and tended to talk down to him, like he was actually a child, even when they were having intense scientific conversations about his condition. Tony found himself frequently reminding his friend that he could still understand what he was saying, even if it didn’t look like he could. 

Surprisingly, he found himself happiest with Thor, perhaps because Thor didn’t have any expectations of him. Thor was the kind of person who didn’t treat children any differently from adults, and that was something that Tony could respect -- he tried to do the same thing, but he felt that he didn’t come off as genuine as Thor did, since he tended to be nicer to kids than he was to adults. As a now-child, the treatment made a world of difference. Thor didn’t think him changed or weak, but also naturally assumed him to find pleasure in childish things. He soon found his two favorite activities were to ride on Thor’s shoulders and pelt the others with bouncy balls until they yelled at him or have Thor throw him in the air and catch him, which gave him a feeling akin to flying or a roller coaster and generally terrified everyone except Natasha and Pepper. 

He found it much harder to hide his emotions now. He knew he should find that to be problematic being the person he was, and the adult part of him was certainly not happy with it, but a much bigger part of him enjoyed the attention he got when he was upset and the grins that were reflected when he was happy. 

He had always been an active kid, the type that always had bandaids and dirt or grease and a big grin. When he wasn’t outside playing or exploring, he was creating, trying to get his dad’s attention and approval. It was no different now, and he was yelled at for going through so many bandaids. Whenever he hurt himself the others seemed cautious, like he was a ticking bomb that would burst into tears at any second. His pain tolerance had always been high, however, and a small scrape on the knee was nothing compared to a broken arm or glass in his feet. When he had the energy, he bounced around the tower, and he wouldn’t really worry about breaking things since he could simply buy it again except the looks on the others’ faces when he did break anything both scared him and made him want to cry. He quickly took to locking himself in his room, reading or inventing or working on Stark Industries crap, which he begged Pepper to let him look over. 

His energy waned each day, something he wasn’t used to; he could go for days on an inventing binge and not wear himself out too badly. He managed to get Bruce on his side and was now allowed to drink coffee, although he no longer liked the taste and it was more like milk and sugar spiked with coffee, but it did nothing for his energy level. His chest never stopped hurting now, and he simply ignored it, telling the others the pain had gone. He could tell the others knew he wasn’t sleeping well, and knew eventually they would confront him, but he felt so weak having to rely on them. He hadn’t relied on anyone except the JARVIS, Stane, and Pepper before, and it was almost terrifying to think of someone getting that close to him. He found he didn’t enjoy his second childhood as much as he probably should’ve, but he hadn’t enjoyed his first childhood all that much either. 

* * *

 

His chest was agony. 

They were dragging him. He felt so weak. Sweat was pouring down his face and chest, pooling in the small of his back, stinging the open wounds on his hands and chest. It was hard to breathe. He cradled the car battery close, pressing it tight against his aching chest as he forced down whimpers. Vaguely he knew that this was a dream, but that didn’t stop his terror in the slightest. 

He was there, in front of the water. His chest was already spasming with phantom shocks, sobs threatening to wrack through his body and display his weakness. They were talking in that language he couldn’t understand, harsh words falling upon ringing ears. He knew what happened next. 

They shoved him down, held him there. He knew, logically, that the best course of action was to go limp so they would pull him up. His body didn’t listen to his brain, thrashing wildly as air fled from his lungs, jumping as shocks ricocheted through his chest. They pulled him up; he gasped a breath; the water was around him again, filling his ears, stifling his air. He couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t feel lightheaded; the water was cold, but he couldn’t feel the sensation. He thrashed against them. 

Tony Stark was not a stranger to humiliation, nor was he immune as he portrayed. 

Warm liquid contrasted with cold, trickling along his legs and pooling under him. They pulled him up so he could hear their laughter, shaking sobs making everything so much worse, the pain, the fear, the complete disgrace. He opened his mouth, gasped in a breath, and wailed. It was a sound no one had heard but Jarvis and Ana when he was still small. He fought them hard, dropping the battery, hands gripping and twisting at fabric, the heavy blanket of warmth that was the air around him strangling him, the uncomfortable feeling of wetness reminding him of his body’s betrayal and utter shame. They grabbed his wrists then, the heaving of his chest sending his mind spiraling into red hot agony, unable to see through his mortification. 

They slapped him and his eyes snapped open, unable to see in the darkness of his room, his own loud breaths filling his ears and tears leaking from his eyes. Slowly he adjusted to the dark, hearing movements and talking around him. On some level he knew it was his friends, but he was still trapped in his terror. 

Clint’s face materialized out of the darkness above him, his mind starting to slow down, and he realized they must’ve been holding him to the bed -- he must’ve been thrashing. “Tony?” someone asked, worried, and a hand was set on his knee. Even he didn’t expect the visceral reaction that tore out of him. 

“ _ Don’t touch me! _ ” he screeched, kicking out, terrified they would find his humiliation. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle them finding out, seeing, he couldn’t handle them touching him. The hand retreated and he arched against those holding his wrists. “Get out! Don’t f-fucking touch me!” He curled up, scrubbing at his face, trying hard not to sob. He could hear footsteps retreating from his bed, just out of sight, but not out of the room. Someone leaned over him, hair brushing along his cheek, and he could smell Pepper. 

“Tony, baby,” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

And that was it. 

He cried silently, unable to hide it, as Pepper settled on the edge of the bed next to him, stroking his hair. He felt another settle at the foot of the bed, reaching up to touch him; felt them touch the bed, pause, and retreat. 

“The bed is wet,” Steve whispered, and Tony shook his head, covering his mouth with his good hand, clutching his cast to his aching chest. 

He was going to be in trouble. They would hate him. Maybe they would yell. He was supposed to be an adult, and he did this. They were never going to look at him the same.

“Oh, honey.” Pepper stroked his hair, wiping tears from his cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut in shame and lingering panic. “It’s okay, Tony. It’s all okay.” He didn’t fight her as she peeled back the blankets and gently lifted him, not caring for the mess, carrying him to the bathroom. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in a smell that was so deliciously Pepper, trying to calm himself down. He was so tired. 

He could hear the others beginning to strip the bed, whispering softly among themselves, as Pepper flicked on the lights and helped him strip down and pull a bag over his cast, thumbing the tears off his face and soothing him when he sniffled. She turned on the shower, guessing a bath wouldn’t be a good idea since he’d just had a nightmare, and let him stick his hand under the water and tell her when he thought it was warm enough as she stripped down as well. She lifted him then, stepping in and sitting on the little bench in the shower stall, letting the water wash over them as she soothed and rocked and kissed him. He felt himself calm, leaning into her comforting embrace and wishing he could stay there with her forever and fall asleep. 

Natasha came in silently as Pepper shampooed his hair, his eyes closed tiredly and leaning into her ministrations, depositing clothes and towels for both of them on the toilet. He let Pepper help him wash down, then sat comfortably in her embrace under the water as she washed her own hair and body, neither speaking, content in the silence and togetherness. She helped him towel off and he didn’t care enough to protest, too tired and comfortable with the action to resist. They got dressed in the warmth of the bathroom, and the terror seemed so far behind him now. But the shame was still there, the need to not face his team, and the pain, a deep ache that had settled in his chest since he had been turned. They were going to look at him differently now, treat him differently. He didn’t want that. He found himself reaching up for her to lift him, and she easily obliged, holding him close and letting him rest his head on her shoulder. 

When they emerged the bed was made, this time with green sheets and a Hulk comforter, which cheered him up when he imagined Bruce’s face upon first seeing it. The others were lounging around the room in various chairs, Bruce and Natasha reading books, Thor watching over Steve’s shoulder as the super soldier drew, and Clint messing with his bow. They looked up, studying him closely, but he saw no difference in their gazes. Concern, which had been there for days now, but no scorn or amusement. 

And he realized that maybe it was okay to let them treat him like a child. When he turned back, they would probably still treat him the same, wouldn’t they? But what if they hated having to deal with him as a child, and things changed when he turned back. What if when he let them see parts of him he hadn’t shown anything else they treated him differently. He didn’t want that. He would hate that. 

Maybe he could talk to them about it. 

But not now. Now he was tired, and wanted to sleep. 

They didn’t speak as he crawled into bed, or when Pepper climbed in after him and snuggled close. Bruce reached over and flipped off the lights and Tony pressed his head up against Pepper’s chin, listening to the others as they stood and moved towards the door. Someone touched his hair. 

“We’ll be right down the hall.”

Clint.   
The door closed and Pepper was stroking his back, and he was so warm and comfortable and  _ safe _ , and he fell into the best sleep he’d had in years, a dreamless sleep of gray. 


	6. 6: Mr Stark? Just Tony is Fine

“ _ Sir is scared _ ,” JARVIS told them. Obviously, they didn't believe him. This was Tony Stark they were referring to, after all. “ _ Not like that, _ ” the A.I. added dryly, clearly responding to the look on Steve’s face. “ _ Sir does have fears, obviously. If any of you cared to look. But that is not what I am referring to. He is not fearing bodily -- sir trusts the Avengers very much, with his life at least. _ ” 

“You mean because he's been letting us examine the arc reactor when it's hurting him?” Bruce knew how particular his friend was about the unfortunate hardware in his chest. 

“ _ Yes, Doctor Banner. _ ” There was a pause. “ _ Are the Avengers aware of Obadiah Stane? _ ” 

“He used to run Stark Industries, didn't he?” Natasha answered, knowing where JARVIS was going and deciding to play along. “He died in some sort of accident.” 

“ _ Yes, _ ” JARVIS said sourly, clearly showing his distaste for the man.  “ _ He was also Mr. Stark’s godfather. The two were very close. _ ” Steve frowned. He knew what it was like to lose someone close to you. “ _ He is the man who ordered a hit on sir which seems to have led to his confinement at the hands of the Ten Rings terrorist group. _ ” 

“Oh,” Clint breathed as Bruce all but collapsed into a chair. Thor clenched his fists and looked ready to summon Mjolnir, but stayed silent for once. 

“ _ When sir returned with the miniaturized arc reactor, he refused to let others see it -- there are still no saved plans anywhere. It was a revolutionary piece of technology. _ ” JARVIS’s pride in his creator was clear. “ _ Stane wanted it, obviously, _ ” he continued dryly. “ _ He managed to get past my defenses and paralyzed sir before taking the reactor out of his chest. It is very lucky sir still had possession of the one he created in the cave. _ ” 

Now Steve sat heavily. He could imagine losing someone close to you... but complete betrayal by someone you loved and trusted, he couldn’t. Just trying to picture someone like Bucky doing that too him caused an immense amount of pain. And it had  _ happened _ to Tony. Natasha’s face was stone, her arms crossed. Clint looked lost. Thor looked upset, and Steve realized it was because he was sympathizing -- what Loki had done probably seemed an awful lot like betrayal from his perspective. 

“ _ I told you this because I would like the Avengers to know how deeply sir trusts you with his life. Mr. Stark’s emotions are another thing entirely. I am not sure if he even trusts Miss Potts fully with all that he feels. _ ” 

“What do you mean with this?” Thor boomed, looking up at the ceiling.  

“ _ Sir is afraid that if he allows himself to act as the child he now is, you will see and treat him diff- _ ” 

“JARVIS.” The voice was firm, shaking slightly with anger, and they spun around to see a tiny Tony Stark standing with clenched fists and a white face. “What have you been telling them? What did I tell you about privacy?”

“ _ I have only told them what I deem necessary to keep you healthy, sir. That is my programming. _ ” 

“Tony,” Steve started, but the genius cut him off, pointing a shaking finger. 

“ _ No _ .” His voice cracked. “No, don’t you say a word. JARVIS, you and I are going to have a long reprogramming session. Whatever he told you was personal.” They saw his face turning red. Bruce rose to his feet. 

“ _ Sir- _ ”

“Shut up JARVIS!” Tony shouted, his shoulders shaking in rage. “How could you...” His voice cracked, and they knew he was feeling betrayed. “What else did he say? Other than I’m emotionally stunted. What did he tell you.” 

“Tony, you can trust us,” Steve said quietly, unsure how to handle the situation. He normally knew how to deal with Tony; but that was when he was blustering, bluffing, and bitching, not when he was like this. He had never seen him like this. 

The billionaire faltered, his face falling a bit in confusion. “I know that,” he answered. 

Clint started to say something, but Bruce waved his hand, giving him a look. The physicist approached his friend, kneeling to his level. “Tony, this situation is... unique.” The boy snorted. “We understand that there is a conflict right now between what you know and what you feel. Naturally, you’re going to have more childish impulses.” 

“Aye,” Thor interrupted, a grin suddenly lighting up his face. “Loki often enjoyed letting our warriors trist as young ones for a day. The mischief of a child is something to be foretold!” 

“We aren’t going to blame you for them,” Bruce continued softly. Tony shook his head, and suddenly he looked like he was about to cry. Alarm rang in their heads as they tried to find a way to backtrack. 

“I know that,” he whispered, his voice breaking, and Bruce felt like his heart was breaking with it. “I know you don’t blame me and I trust you. But you’re looking at me different. I’m not different. I’m still  _ me _ , Bruce. I- I don’t want things to change when I go back to normal. I don’t want that. And you guys don’t  _ want _ me to act like a child. No, hear me out! The only one who has paid me the light of day and actually played with me like a child has been Thor. The rest of you want me to be brilliant Anthony Edward Stark, and hole myself away until I get better or figure out a solution.” He took a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh.

“I’m scared, okay? I don’t want you guys to see me differently. I know that I’m a kid now, but the adult part of me is still yelling at me to be more mature. I... I want to play and stuff like that, but I don’t really know how. And I don’t want it to affect our dynamic whenever I turn back.” He ran his hands through his curls, and Natasha had to smile as his hair stood on end. “I don’t feel like myself. I don’t know what to do. You guys were never supposed to see me like this. I’m not  _ vulnerable _ .” He spat the word like it was poison, glaring at the air. “I’m not weak or something, I swear-”

“We know that,” Clint interrupted, crossing his arms. “Geez, Tony, with all the crap you’ve been through you deserve to be ‘weak or something’. But you’re not. That’s why you’re goddamn Iron Man.”

“This isn’t going to change anything,” Steve suddenly declared in his Captain America voice. “Listen, Tony, we understand what you’re going through. It’s not going to change how we think of you.” He flushed slightly, but it didn’t show. “I, for one, respect you a lot actually. You deserve to be on this team, and honestly, if I was in your position I definitely wouldn’t be handling it as well as you are.” Clint snorted. 

“I would probably be hidden in a corner somewhere avoiding everyone until someone figured out how to fix me.”

“It is not always an enjoyable experience,” Thor said with a thoughtful nod. 

It didn’t matter, because Tony was still staring at Steve, tears pooling in his eyes, and all the captain could think was  _ Oh crap, I made him cry again _ . 

“You mean it?” Tony whispered, not sounding sure of himself. “You respect me?”

“Oh God, Steve, it’s going to go straight to his head,” Natasha teasingly groaned, and Tony barked out a watery laugh. Bruce tugged him into a hug that Tony willingly fell into, burying his face in his friend’s shirt and letting himself be surrounded in warmth and relief. It was okay. He would be okay. He didn’t have to watch what he did or said anymore -- they promised it wouldn’t matter. 

Maybe this childhood would be better. 

* * *

 

It was still hard. 

The trouble came in trying to find a balance between allowing Tony to act like a child and not making him feel patronized. They could tell Tony was still struggling with his own feelings and whether to truly trust them or not; he was subdued and often frowning in thought, when he wasn't laid up on the couch binge watching Disney movies and breathing through the pain in his chest that hadn't diminished. Bruce and the SHIELD doctors were tearing their hair out to locate the problem, or at least find a way to reduce the pain. Tony assured them there wasn't a problem, that it hurt all the time and this body simply couldn't handle the pain as well, and Steve had to resist scolding him for never telling them about his discomfort. Thor praised him for handling his battle wounds so gracefully. 

There came to be two defining points of the next few days. 

The first was legos. 

Of all things, it shouldn’t have been surprising that the building blocks were what brought little Tony out of his shell. Clint had brought them, and the two sat building and chattering in the living room. The others left them alone, sending glances and peering around corners to watch Tony so engaged and excited. It was only after several looks that the others realized Tony wasn’t using the instructions at all; despite that, the model spaceship in his hands look exactly like the picture on the box, with a few modifications. 

Clint was slower than Tony at putting his spacecraft together, but not by much. Soon the two were in heated battle, Tony shouting and running around the room, jumping off the couches and turning his spaceship to pretend to shoot at Clint’s while the archer chased him, misquoting Star Wars. It honestly wasn’t all that different from what the two would get up to normally when the genius had time for it, which is probably what made Tony more comfortable. 

They played for a good hour, shouting at each other, before Clint managed to knock the wing off Tony’s model. He let it spiral to the ground before collapsing with it, throwing his arms out. “Barton,” the boy giggled in a voice of fake-pain. “Tell Pepper... don’t forget the dry cleaning.” He let his tongue hang out in fake-death while Clint collapsed in laughter beside him, clutching his sides. 

“Tell her yourself,” the woman herself teased as she walked in, dropping down to tickle Tony’s stomach. 

“Pep!” Tony laughed as he scrambled up, hugging her tightly. “You’re home!” 

“I wish I got this enthusiasm from you all the time,” she laughed back, stroking his hair. Clint was still gasping for air, unrecovered from his laughing fit. “I have a business trip tomorrow so I decided to come home early today.” He beamed up at her and she forced herself not to react. Seeing her lover, even as a child, so openly happy was a completely new experience, and one she wanted to have again. 

“You work too much,” he muttered as he began to pout. “Aren’t there other people who can do some of the things you do?”

“Says the hypocrite.” She shook her head, smiling slightly, and tried to tame his curls. They had become increasingly unruly. He stuck his tongue out at her. 

“I’m not a hypocrite.”

“Are too,” Clint piped in childishly. 

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Children,” Natasha chastised as she emerged from the kitchen. “Welcome back Pepper. You’re staying for lunch?”

“I’m home for the day.” Pepper knew it was all pleasantries and Natasha had heard what she had already said to Tony, but the domesticity of this situation was nice. Maybe Tony’s accident was more of a blessing than anything else. He certainly seemed happier. 

Then again, work had been hell since his ‘disappearance’. Investors were hesitant, and the board was freaking out. Stocks had dropped. Despite her constant press briefings and reassurances that Tony had simply gotten sick and was taking a much needed break away from the public eye, the press continued reports of his death or capture because of his work on the Avengers, and she was working nonstop to counteract the damage. They were all avoiding the news while in the Tower for now, not wanting to stress Tony out about his situation even more. 

“What are we having?” Clint asked as he sat up. Tony gathered the pieces of his space ship and deftly reassembled it -- Pepper watched and had to remind herself for a second that Tony was still a genius, and he had been at this age even if he didn’t remember anything. 

“Steve and I made some BLTs. Bruce is making some weird Indian dessert.” 

“Food,” Tony suddenly moaned, looking up quickly. “Is it ready?” 

“Come on, Stark. We know how you starve.” 

* * *

 

The second was not as joyous. 

Steve had walked in just in time to catch Tony as he fell off the counter, and was chewing him out with gusto. 

“What were you thinking?!”

“I’m a big boy, Capsicle. I know what I’m doing.” In truth his heart was beating madly from the near miss. 

“That’s the problem,” Steve scowled, poking Tony’s chest. “You’re  _ not _ a big boy right now. You can hurt yourself. If you need something, ask us. Damn it, Stark, why can’t you just rely on us!”

“Language,” Natasha teased as she walked in before noticing Tony’s teary eyes. “Steve, stop.”

And Steve did something she wasn’t expecting. 

Captain America knelt and pulled Tony into his arms, close to his chest. “You can trust us,” he sighed finally. “You don’t need to rely just on yourself anymore.”

Tony clung to Steve for the rest of the day, and they knew that he was no longer Tony Stark, genius, billionaire; he was just Tony for now, and they would all have to adjust. 


	7. 7: Normal? Nah

The first sensation felt was fear, the second being pain. His vision, though his eyes were closed and it was black, was tinged with red, and the pounding in his head was a tell-tale sign of a concussion... or a hangover, but since the last was unlikely as of right now, he knew he was going to have a few days of hell rather than just a morning. 

Tony didn’t particularly want to open his eyes, but it was cold and hard, wherever he was, and fear was stronger than laziness. He peeled them open, expecting a blinding light and perhaps a worried teammate or Pepper. Instead, it was dark, and he was alone. He stayed still, sprawled on the cement floor, letting his eyes adjust to the low light -- the only source was from under the crack of the door -- and trying to calm the pounding of his head and roiling of his stomach. He didn’t think there was anything in him to actually throw up, but he found he couldn’t remember, which was perhaps more terrifying than anything else, since it left the options of what had happened open. Was he alone? Were the Avengers with him, or were they looking for him? Was he at home and gotten lost, or had he been kidnapped? He seemed to remember watching a movie with the others, something dumb that hadn’t held his attention well, playing on his phone during the less riveting scenes, and...

The Avengers Assemble alarm went off. But JARVIS was on his phone, telling him frantically that there had been no calls. It was the second time JARVIS had been tampered with since the accident, and it didn’t sit well with Tony. The firewalls clearly needed an upgrade. In the turmoil, the others hadn’t listened to him, which wasn’t unusual. He’d snuck onto the quinjet, only emerging after it had taken off lest they make him get off, and, trained and experienced in the subject, he’d seen the streak left by a high-speed missile heading their way. He remembered screaming, and that was about it. 

So, kidnapped. He hoped they were already over the Atlantic when the missile hit and the city hadn’t suffered any damage. The Avengers were supposedly with him, but since they hadn’t come for him yet, he could assume they were all incapacitated. That feat in itself would’ve taken someone clever and careful planning. 

He opted to move his head the smallest possible amount; his entire body felt like one big bruise, but explosions tended to do that. He hoped he was at least intact enough to move when the time came. Now that he knew what he had to do, his fear was lesser: he needed to find one of the others, get them out, and then take it from there. Simple. Probably. Maybe. It was at least possible, though he couldn’t focus enough through the jackhammer in his skull to calculate the exact probabilities. He rolled his eyes around the room, taking in the small amount he could see. 

It seemed to be a hastily modified closet. There were scrape marks from quickly moved shelves, a layer of dust and grime that he was now disgustingly coated in, and a bare lightbulb that he couldn’t reach the pull for. The combination of these observations led him to several conclusions. The first was that they had no idea he was Tony Stark. They thought he was a normal boy, and clearly didn’t have an adequate place to put him, so they had stuck him in a closet. They did have the sense to remove anything that could be useful to him, but the move was clearly hurried, and it was likely they had missed something in one of the dark corners that he could use. Then, since they didn’t know he was Iron Man, they would most likely be on high alert, expecting him, the missing Avenger, to come for his teammates. 

Well, he would, but not in the way they were thinking. 

Now, the task of standing. First, he supposed, he should check that he was actually able to do that. His cast was still intact, thank God, but the sharp pain told him he had probably rebroken the arm. It would have to be recasted at some point, but it was good enough for now. His other wrist felt like it had been dislocated, but someone had been kind enough to pop it back into place while he was out. It hurt like a bitch, but it was mobile, and would have to do. His chest was aching, but he was used to that by now. It didn’t even really bother him, except this was much sharper. He was having trouble breathing. His ribs were either bruised or cracked, but a quick palpation showed they weren’t broken at least, which was a blessing. In a child’s body, the explosion should’ve done more major damage. He suspected his friends had protected him from it somewhat. His ankle was clearly twisted, and damn that would hurt, but he could deal with it. He was going to have to deal with it. He didn’t seem to be bleeding profusely from anywhere, just a multitude of cuts and bruises, although he could feel stickiness on his face and neck which was probably from the wound that caused his concussion. 

Alright, check done. Now actually moving. That would probably be harder. 

Check that, it was definitely, one hundred percent harder. He couldn’t stop the small moan of pain as he rolled onto his chest and pushed himself up. His wrists protested and the cast complicated things. Damn, that really did hurt. His arms shook and for a second he was deathly afraid his elbows would give out. Okay, halfway there. 

Maybe save actually standing for later. Yeah, he would do that. 

He crawled toward the far corners of the room, his hands sweeping over the dirty floor, looking for small tidbits of  _ something _ that would help him. Success! Kind of. It was a tiny paperclip, but it was enough. There was so much he could do with it. A thumb tack. Okay, he could probably do something with that. A screw. In the other corner, a small piece of broken glass. A weapon. It wasn’t much, but it was what he had. 

Standing was now pertinent, as he had to unlock the door with the freshly acquired paperclip, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. And he definitely didn’t. 

His ankle screamed at him as he stumbled over to the door, leaning his ear against it and listening for a moment as he unbent the paperclip. Unlocking it would be simple really; he had been bored on a drunken night a couple years ago and taught himself. He hoped he still had the muscle memory to do it, being a child now and also drunk at the time he learned. It took him a few tries, bracing his shoulder against the door to keep from falling over, but he heard the lock click after a few frustrating minutes and quickly stashed the clip in his pocket with the rest of his ‘tools’. He listened at the door again before gently turning the knob and cracking it open, just enough for him to peek out. 

He expected a hallway, maybe with a couple cameras or a guard. Instead it was a cluttered room, a lab of some sort.  The junk that had apparently been previously in his closet was pushed in one corner. Two doors on opposite walls stared him down. It was empty for now, thank God, and his first thought was  _ chemicals _ . Even if he wasn’t a chemist, his time as the Merchant of Death had given him experience in the area, at least with the volatile substances. He needed to get access to those compounds; he could definitely come up with ways to use them. 

His trained eyes quickly swept the room for the small signs of cameras or recording devices, something he was unfortunately used to doing and very good at, considering he made and installed the top-of-the-line products in his own homes. There was one in the far corner across from his closet, and he shrank back into the shadows a bit, trying to remain hidden, praying the door wasn’t open enough for them to notice. It was highly likely that, with the Avengers in the compound and Iron Man supposedly on his way, the CCTVs were being watched closely now even if they weren’t normally, which complicated things. He would have to find a way to either disable or avoid the cameras. 

But first he would have to find a way to get out of the closet. 

An opportunity presented itself quickly as one of the doors began to open. Quickly he shut his own door, praying whoever it was hadn’t seen the movement and leaning in to listen. Whoever had entered was in the middle of a rant. 

“What do you mean, ‘defend us from Iron Man’? He’s the most brilliant mind of this age, probably of any age, you can’t ‘defend’ against him, you can only hope he doesn’t kill us!” He guessed that was some sort of scientist who had been tasked with defenses. “How did you not capture him anyway?”

“He wasn’t in the jet with the others. His CEO says he’s sick and taking a break on the news. He probably wasn’t in New York.” A soldier, probably. He didn’t sound happy with the scientist figure. 

“And what about the child?” 

There wasn’t a response -- a shrug, Tony guessed. 

There was no way for him to sneak out anymore, but perhaps there was another way. Silently he lowered himself to the floor and scooted back to his original place, pulling his uninjured leg up and hugging it tightly like a frightened child would. The tears came easily, his body responding to the pain and stress even if his mind found it humiliating, and soon his nose was running too. After a few minutes, he started to let out some sobs, and heard the voices behind the door stop. 

He always had been a good actor. 

“Hello?” he called in a shaky voice. “I-Is there anyone there? I’m scared.” There wasn’t any noise, but he could guess the people belonging to the voices were having some kind of conversation. “Do you know where my parents are?” God, that brought up bad memories. He shoved them away, focused on the task at hand. 

“He’s just a child!” there suddenly came in a burst of sound before it was quickly muffled again. So his plan was working. 

“I-I know you’re there. Please, may I go to the restroom? I’ll be good.” He prayed when they opened the door they didn’t notice it was already unlocked. 

There was a soft conversation and some scuffling before he heard the key slide into the lock outside and the door was flung open. He blinked, blinded by the sudden brightness, and looked up, remembering once again how small he was now. 

The scientist and both soldiers all looked hesitant and unsure. He made a conscious effort to look as small and scared as possible, ramping up his sobs again as if he was frightened. In truth, he really was frightened, but he didn’t let himself acknowledge that. The soldier standing in front, the one who had apparently unlocked the door, seemed to melt -- he definitely had a family -- and knelt down, shuffling towards him. 

“Hey kid. What’s your name?” 

Tony’s brain ran through a viciously quick cycle of all the names he knew, trying to find something inconspicuous that couldn’t possibly be linked back to himself. “James,” he answered in a small voice after a moment that could be considered hesitation instead of thought. 

“Why were you with the Avengers?” the scientist asked, crossing his arms. Tony forced himself to shrink down, giving him time to think.

“I made a wish.” 

It was a plausible explanation. Tony had been trying to convince the others to participate in the Make A Wish foundation for a couple months now. The three men looked confused and he spoke back up quickly.

“I have a heart problem. Mommy says it doesn’t beat right. These nice people came to the hospital and gave me a list of wishes I could make. They said I could meet the Avengers. The alarm started ringing while we were talking and I didn’t know what to do so I followed them. It was scary.” It wasn’t completely untrue; he  _ did _ have a heart problem, and he had followed them onto the quinjet. 

“Oh,” one of them said lamely. 

He had the sudden terrifying thought that if he lowered his leg, they would be able to see his arc reactor, and the jig would be up. But they had clearly moved him here and hadn’t noticed it before. He subtly glanced down and remembered he was wearing two shirts, a t-shirt over a long sleeved undershirt, and realized they couldn’t see the glow or the outline of the casing. He almost sagged in relief. 

“So, you need to go to the bathroom?” the soldier with kids asked finally, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He nodded and made a face that he hoped looked like relief, standing up quickly. 

“Can I see the Avengers? They’re supposed to take be back to the hospital.”

“Uh, in a bit. C’mon.” A strong hand was on his shoulder, steering him, and he felt small and weak and scared, but he knew what he had to do. 

He was led out of the closet, out of the lab (dammit! the chemicals!) and down the hallway to a small restroom with one toilet and a grimy sink. The door closed and he could hear it lock behind him, one of the men calling “You’ve got five minutes, James!” 

Five minutes was enough. 

He thanked God once more for his luck. The vents weren't standard but industrial: they were probably underground or in a bunker. And thanks to his lucky stars the vent in the bathroom was on the wall above the toilet. 

Quietly he put the seat down and climbed on top, sticking his arms out to find his balance. His head just reached the bottom of the vent cover. If he could pull this off, he should get an award. He dug the glass out of his pocket and reached up, working hard and frantically at the screws. He got three undone and the cover fell open. No time for the last screw, this was good enough. He shoved the three screws and glass shard back in his pocket and started hefting himself into the hole. His injured wrist was screaming at him and his cast was really only good as an anchor; his chest ached as he dragged it, and subsequently the arc reactor, over the lip of the opening. 

“James?”

He should've flushed and been washing his hands by now. He could feel himself sweating, kicking his legs to give himself momentum. He heard the door burst open behind him and his heart ratcheted up a notch, beating painfully against his ribs as he squirmed quickly into the dark hole, away from potentially grabbing hands. It was too small for him to crawl and he had never mastered the army crawl, so he was reduced to a sort of shimmying shuffle that resembled something like a caterpillar.

There was loud shouting behind him and a distinct cry of “You  _ lost _ the child?!” He took pathways at random, trying to make the least amount of noise possible, carefully skirting past vents. He could hear shouting and running around; it was only a matter of time before they tried to smoke him out like some sort of pest. 

Finally there was a vent to an empty room. It took him several frustrating and pain filled tries (movies made it look far easier than it was) to kick the grate off and drop down into the room, landing in a heap and groaning at the impact. He stood quickly, looking for supplies. 

The room was tiny, hardly bigger than his previous closet, and the door was locked, which was fine as long as it stayed that way.


	8. 8: Bad Planning

The only things in the room could've made him cry at the sight. 

Cap’s shield was leaning up against one wall, Hawkeye and Widow’s various weapons piled next to it, and Thor’s hammer trembling on the floor -- the prince was clearly trying to summon it, but something was blocking him. In hindsight these baddies would probably realize it was stupid to leave the weapons all in the same room, but for now it told him one thing. The others were definitely here with him. 

He rushed... actually, it was more like he limped as fast as he could, holding himself very stiffly, to the pile of Clint and Nat’s weapons, kneeling and shuffling through them. He found himself shying away from the bigger blades and guns, for no reason he could consciously determine. He grabbed two smaller knives instead that would be easy for him to hold, making a note to thank the two spies later for being so prepared as he strapped the sheaths (why had the idiots left the sheaths on?) to his belt, which he hadn’t gotten out of the habit of wearing thank God. One of the Widow Bites looked broken, and if he had the time he could probably fix it, but he didn’t, so he shoved it in his pocket, sure he could salvage the parts for something if he needed to, and strapped the working on on his good... well, non-casted, wrist. There was a small pistol that Clint normally kept in his boot that he would probably be able to fire even without muscle memory, and he shoved that in his back pocket, making sure the safety was on. He definitely didn’t want to shoot his ass off. 

There was no way he could use Clint’s bow, it was far to heavy for him. Even normally he probably wouldn’t be able to draw back the string if he wasn’t in the suit, and it was taller than him, so it wasn’t worth carrying around. His arrows, meanwhile, could be useful. Tony would know, he had invented most of them. 

Not the arrows themselves, actually, the arrow heads. He quickly dismantled the quiver to give him access, grabbing all the EMP heads he could and stuffing them in his other pocket (one was becoming quite full). He took one of the hacking heads (he was particularly proud of that piece of tech) and several exploding ones. He felt far more confident now that he had an arsenal at his fingertips. 

There was no way he could lift Thor’s hammer, he didn’t even bother going near it, but Cap’s shield would probably be useful. It was as big as he was, but if he could lift it, he would be better protected than most tanks... at least in the front. 

The shield had never really seemed all that heavy, but now it felt like the vibranium weighed a ton. He could lift it for a bit, but if he wanted to walk it needed to rest on the ground, dragging. It wouldn’t damage the shield -- it was more likely to damage the ground -- but it would make noise. He contemplated, and the benefits outweighed the disadvantages, so he strapped it to his casted arm. 

Leaving was next. He had been rushing, but he had pretty fairly mapped out what he had seen through the ventilation. Assuming the vents ran alongside the hallways, he thought he knew where the control room was for the monitoring system. Getting that offline should be his next goal. 

But there was no way he was getting back up into the vents. He was too battered, and they were too high in this room for him to reach anyway. That meant leaving right through the front door, which, he hoped he didn’t have to mention, was immensely dangerous. Especially since the cameras were, as of yet, still working. 

He had weapons, and he could probably use them, but he needed a way to take out the cameras while he looked for the control room. That’s where his brilliant EMP arrows came in. He had developed them originally to take out single robots, since every evil scientist seemed to be coming out of the woodworks since Iron Man, so they weren’t very strong. If directly touching electronics they could fry circuits, and in his testing they had made lights flicker lightly and TVs stripe momentarily, but couldn’t permanently damage or disrupt anything from afar. Seeing as he had no way to get the arrowhead to the cameras, and only had a limited number of them, he was going to have to ramp up the energy output somehow. 

Natasha was going to kill him. 

He pulled the broken Widow Bite back out, working stiff fingers around delicate wiring, hissing at the intermittent shocks he received as he wired the weapons together. It took him far longer than it should have, and he wished he had better tools, but the makeshift machine would work for at least a few blasts. Adrenaline was fading and his wrist screamed at him as he worked at the lock on the door, slowly peeking out. This hallway was clear. 

He was about to step out when he remembered that if he was going to get the others, they would need weapons too. He turned back, grabbed another pistol and another knife, and rushed into the hallway, eager to get this over with. 

* * *

 

“What are you doing?” 

Tony flinched and froze at the yell before spinning around, panicking as the glaring soldier stomped closer. Instinctively he held up the shield. 

“U-Uhm-” His gears were turning to crank out a feasible lie. “I got l-lost, I was looking for Dad. He told me to s-stay put but the other soldiers told me to move and-”

“Where did you get that?” The guy’s anger wasn’t diminishing, but he didn’t seem to suspect him either. “Don’t you know we’re in lockdown?”

“Uhm!” Fuck, when did lying get this hard? Damn his concussion. “I heard the alarms and I got scared, I stole some key and started looking for a place to hide and I found Captain America’s shield, I thought it could protect me f-from Dad.” He groaned internally. He was scared, but his irritation at his mission being interrupted and his plotting was doing a good job of distracting him. 

But he panicked when the soldier leaned down. The most likely conclusion was that he wasn’t doing anything malicious -- taking the shield maybe, or picking him up -- but it terrified Tony, and apparently his muscle memory was just fine because in an instant his little pistol was out of his back pocket and missing a bullet. Blood splattered over his face and chest and he froze, staring pale and wide-eyed at the man as he crumpled. The glazed eyes bore into him, and he felt his shoulders and hands start to shake. 

He had killed before. This was different. It wasn’t right. He was scared. 

He knew the report had sent people running, and he took off, his mind racing faster than his body could as it mapped out his next steps. He was going into shock, he could feel it in his freezing hands and racing heart, but there was nothing he could do about it now. 

He turned too hard, crashed into the door before managing to wrench the knob and shoulder it open, and opened fire on the two surprised guards seated in the room. He was efficient, though not as good as the spies, with two shots in each guard. The clock was ticking. He had five minutes at best.

Doing his best to ignore the rising nausea at the smell of blood and sight of bodies, he rushed over to security panel. He rammed the shield into a crack in the paneling and smashed his shoulder into it, ignoring his pain, prying it and the panel free with scrabbling hands. At the same time he was staring ravenously at the video screens, drinking in the information they gave him: the layout, the location of his friends, their conditions. Cap, Bruce, and Nat all looked unconscious. Nat and Clint were together, a stupid idea from the baddies, but Clint looked alright, banged up but clearly functional judging by the tightly controlled rage and glittering eyes. Cap seemed to be in a med bay, and Bruce was in a cell. Thor looked conscious but not all there, his eyes glazed over, growling and twitching periodically. He was hooked up to a machine. Tony couldn’t determine its origin or function through the perfunctory look he got through the camera, but it was clear it was keeping the Asgardian incapacitated. No one seemed too badly hurt. Obviously Clint, Natasha, and himself were the worst off, considering they were all fully human, but it was obvious their superpowered compatriots had taken the brunt of the blast and already healed. 

That meant little however, since it meant three unconscious Avengers, two incapacitated Avengers, and an unarmed, injured archer trying to escape from God-knows-who in a compound in the middle of God-knows-where. 

Four minutes. 

He tore at the wiring with his hands, using Cap’s shield to ground him; the electricity still travelled through him, but wouldn’t do permanent damage to his reactor or heart. Damn if it didn’t hurt though. He ignored it, stripping the wires with his teeth as he wired the Frankenstein EMP into the control panel directly. It was rough, but he could make it work. Bruce was going to be pissed at the electrical burns on his fingers, but that didn’t matter for now. Adrenaline was his new best friend. 

Two minutes. 

He was scared, fucking terrified. His heart was beating in his throat, forcing him to swallow reflexively just to keep the vomit and air down, alarms and his own mind screaming at him, panic throbbing through him as his medulla tried to overrule his cerebral cortex and force him into fight-or-flight. He couldn’t run, not yet, he had to do this, he had to stay, it didn’t matter how scared he was, this  _ had _ to be done! 

One minute. 

He was going to be shot. He wasn’t going to make it in time and they would come storming in here and he was going to be shot and he was  _ terrified. _ He was going to die and he wouldn’t even have saved his friends,  _ God damn it all _ . He pressed the activator on the Widow Bite and watched the control panel spark, flicker, die, and set off a chain reaction. 

Light bulbs exploded, some of the monitors burst out in an array of shattered glass and sparks, the wiring he had just stripped caught on fire as the rubber casing began to melt. He shrieked and backed away, hearing similar emasculating sounds echoing through the building. This wasn’t what he intended, but okay, he had somehow wired the pulse up so well to the power supply that he had shot the entire electrical system at once. 

Maybe he needed to go review some electrical manuals when he got home. 

Unintended, but certainly welcome. 

He could hear the roar of backup generators, but it seemed he had fried about half of the wiring with his EMP blast, since (he noticed as he tore through the hallways) only about half the lights came back on. Some were flickering. It was very ominous. 

This would make a great movie. Of course, it would make a better movie if the protagonist wasn’t a five year old. He might market it. 

He skidded around a corner, saw the barrel of an automatic, and immediately curled up behind the shield. Vibranium may never break and absorb vibration, but it couldn’t stop him from flying backward and slamming into the wall, earning a few more bruises and what he thought was a cracked rib, his arm jostling in the cast and almost drawing a scream as gray and red and white spots danced in front of his face. Maybe that was just the paint job on the shield though. 

He pulled his own gun and managed to hit the guy right between the eyes, but, by his count, that meant he was out of bullets. Wow, that was stupid, not bringing more ammo. He honestly hadn’t expected to use it. 

He skittered onward, dashing around a corner before hastily backtracking and ducking into an adjacent room, locking the door, giving himself time to think. 

If the map from the control room was correct, that heavily guarded (fifteen guards was overkill, wasn’t it? Maybe not, since it was the Avengers) room was where Clint and Natasha were locked up. And, if his assumptions were correct, he found out why no one had come running to stop him from devastating their entire electrical grid -- they were probably all watching the Avengers. 

He needed to find a way in. There had to be a way. If he could get to Clint, Clint would know what to do. 

This room was, supposedly, directly adjacent to Clint’s. Maybe, if he could find another ventilation shaft... 

And he didn’t even need to climb anything to get to this one. 

The grate was at ground level, and with the epinephrine still pouring through his capillaries he made quick work of the screws. He didn’t want to leave Cap’s shield behind, but it only fit diagonally in the opening. Then again, he also didn’t want to be snuck up on and shot from behind while stuck in a hole. He ended up wedged into half the shaft with Cap’s shield covering most of his back and wedged pretty tightly as well. It made it hard to move quietly, but since Clint was screaming something from the other side of the wall, he didn’t think anyone would hear. It was a good thing he had always been a small child, or this definitely would not have worked. It certainly wasn’t comfortable. 

The vents branched off, up and to the sides, but he squirmed forward. He couldn’t hear Clint shouting anymore, so he tried his best to keep the shield from scraping along the sides too much or banging into the metal around him. It only took about ten minutes -- it would’ve taken less if he had been able to make noise. But it felt like an eternity. Everything hurt and he was  _ scared _ . He wanted to go home already. 

Finally he could see the vent, and considering these baddies had managed to capture all of the Avengers they clearly had poor design, since the vent seemed to lead right out into Clint and Nat’s cell, judging by what he could see of Nat’s limp body and Clint’s knee. The archer seemed to be sitting along the wall right next to the vent -- clearly he planned to use it in an escape. Tony could see the assassin’s fingers tapping on his knee, and it gave him an idea. With much difficulty and a bit of squirming he managed to pull the thumb tack from his little closet out of his pocket. 

It had been a while ago, but one day he and Clint, chained to the infirmary and high on the good stuff, had decided that there were some operations in which silence and anonymity was absolutely key. Which is where their half-drunk language came in. It was something like Morris Code, but not really. 

Dear God, he just hoped his luck kept running and Clint hadn’t been too high to remember. 

He stayed just in the shadows of the vent so the soldiers in the room couldn’t see his movement, prayed Clint would hear him, trusted that the now-older man’s training would allow him to keep a straight face and not react, and took a chance. 

_ Clint _ , he tapped out. He watched Clint’s fingers continuing to drum on his knee, then saw the subtle change and concentrated, watching carefully. 

_ Tony. _


	9. 9: It Should be Impossible

Relief flooded through him as he stared at Clint’s still tapping fingers, hoping he hadn’t imagined it or hallucinated because of his concussion. _Yes_ , he tapped out, the small metallic ring of the thumb tack on the metal of the vent suddenly comforting. Lucky, he was so goddamn lucky. None of this should have worked, not a single thing he had thought up since waking up in the closet, but it had. Someone was on his side -- he’d have to ask Thor to thank them.

Honestly, it took a lot of effort to interpret what Clint was trying to say. The language they had come up with was really meant to be heard or directly felt, and with just looking the taps were hard to distinguish. Tony found himself tapping his own finger in time with Clint’s so he’d be able to determine the exact pattern of the taps better.

He was worn down and aching, but Clint was _right there_ , promising escape, freedom, food, comfort. Just a little bit more, he told himself, just a little more and we’re out of here. A little more and I won’t have to act like a functioning adult anymore.

Because he really wasn’t a functioning adult, even when he was an adult, and right now it was just ten times harder to act like one with his instinctual hindbrain trying to force down his higher reasoning.

 _Injured_ , Clint tapped out, and it took him a second to realize the archer was asking if he was injured.

 _Not as bad as I could be_ , Tony tapped back quickly, eager to be communicating with an ally. _Just from the blast. They didn’t hurt me._ _What about Nat._

Seeing her prone form through the computer screen was one thing, but seeing someone so important to him look so fragile, especially Natasha, almost made him physically sick, especially when he couldn’t touch her and examine her for himself. He had no idea the extent of her condition, just that she was still unconscious, which never meant anything good in his experience.

 _Playing dead_ , her partner responded, and Tony let out a small breath he had been holding. He suddenly felt the tension drain out of him, and more than anything wanted to be at home watching TV with the others.

 _I have weapons_ , he said instead, knowing he had to keep going at least until he got the spies out of their cage. After that, he could let them take over, but for now he was still the only one free. _And I know where the others are. But they are all KO_. Well, Thor had looked conscious, but it hadn’t seemed like he’d be able to help either.

 _Bad injures_ , Clint asked, clearly worried.

 _No. I think sedatives_. If his hunch was correct, it would make everything so much harder. _Took out cameras. No phone to call backup_.

_What weapons._

_Explosives, one gun, three knives, Nat’s bracelet, Cap’s shield_ , he rattled off, the thumb tack making a soft pinging with every letter. _Found your bow but couldn’t carry it._

_Lockpick._

_Paperclip_.

 _Think you can slip them to me._ Tony glanced around the room again, peering through the grate and taking in the positions of the guards.

_Maybe. If you move in front of the vent. Knife won’t fit, but paperclip and explosives will._

_Widow bite._

_No. Too big. Won’t get through the grate._

_OK_.

He heard Clint sigh and watched him shift, marvelling at how he somehow managed to make a purposeful move five inches to the right look like a bored stretch. The guards didn’t even glance over. Now able to see him better, Tony could tell the archer wasn’t in top shape. His skin bloomed with bruises and cuts, and his shoulder was swollen like it had been dislocated.

He may have had an incredible run of luck so far, but the rest of the journey was just getting harder and harder.

He dug the paper clip that didn’t really resemble a paper clip anymore out of his pocket, along with a couple exploding arrowheads, and carefully pushed them through the bottom of the grate. Normally he would be more hesitant about such a careless handling of explosives, but since he was the one who had made these explosives he wasn’t concerned. They made a small plink as they hit the ground right behind Clint, not loud enough to attract any attention, and quickly they were tucked into the archer’s pocket. 

_If you can get two screws out of this vent I can help._

_Using what._

_Piece of glass. Can you do it._ There was a long pause before the archer answered.

_Yes._

He quickly dropped the glass through the vent as well, watching as Clint picked it up, clearly watching the guards, and slowly loosened the two bottom screws holding the grate on. They, and the glass, were swept into his other pocket. All Tony could do now was wait for his opportunity.

He watched as Clint pretended he was rousing himself from a stupor, physically shaking himself before crawling over to Natasha’s motionless form. The Russian certainly had patience to be still for so long. Her friend placed his fingers on her pulse, his other hand shaking her arm lightly as he softly pleaded for her to wake up. Tony watched as Clint’s fingers brushed over Natasha’s skin. The gesture would look loving or affectionate to anyone else, but he knew better. The two spies had been working together long enough to develop their own set of secret languages, many of them silent.

“Dammit!” Clint shouted after ‘failing’ to rouse her, standing and slamming his hands against the bars of the cell. “She needs _help_!”

“Shut up!” someone shouted back. Clint’s arms were shoved through the spaces between the bars, the guards completely ignoring him, and from this angle it looked like he was pushing at them in a search for weak spots, but Tony had the sneaking suspicion that he was really unlocking the door to the cell. He had the sudden thought that something very bad was about to happen and pulled his other pistol. This one was larger -- he hoped he could handle the kickback.

His premonition proved correct when one of the soldiers glanced at Clint and apparently saw through his ruse, shouting for a moment before Tony dropped him. The shot wasn’t clean, Tony didn’t think he was dead, but incapacitated at least. Probably unconscious since he wasn’t moving.

The sniper shot in an apparently closed room sent the guards into furious panic just as Clint flung the door open and Natasha lept up, arming an arrowhead and tossing it. It exploded in midair feet from Clint’s face, although he didn’t seem phased, setting clothes on fire and eliciting more screams. Tony shoved the vent cover out of the way and scrambled from his hiding spot as Nat darted to meet him, snatching the gun from his hands and picking off guards. The door slammed open and more streamed in, shooting into the air like they were trying to stop a riot. “It’s that kid!” one of them shouted, and Tony froze in place while Clint grabbed two of his knives right from the sheaths, whirling and immediately brandishing them. Natasha shoved him from the side and he remembered he was supposed to be moving and trying not to get shot. He yanked the shield free from the ventilation and Natasha snatched that from him as well, tossing the gun at Clint at the same time he threw her both of the knives. How they managed to pull that off without either one of them getting hurt was something he would never know.

He was left with exploding arrowheads and the singular goal of not dying.  

But bodies and blood and bullets were flying, Clint pulled a full clip of ammo from fucking God _knows_ where and flawlessly reloaded one of his guns while Natasha choked one guy with thighs that should not be that attractive and stabbed someone else right in the ear while catching Cap’s shield with the other hand, how the _hell_ did she do that, and he was completely frozen because Jesus Christ it sounded exactly like a warzone and he was probably imagining the sounds of the Hulk roaring below him and the vast cavity of space yawning around him but people were _dying_ , they were fucking _dying_ and he was _standing here_. And this was not the place to be freaking out. Unfortunately, he was, and all he wanted to do was curl up in his extremely comfortable bed next to an extremely beautiful Pepper while J talked equations to him and he slept for about ten months, because boy did he need it. Everything was starting to ache again, because despite what everyone said terror did not always equal adrenaline and he thought his quota for generally life-saving hormones was up for the day, probably. He had no idea how he had even made it this far as his leg crumpled under him without warning, twisting his body awkwardly as he fell, and he painfully remembered that, oh yeah, he had sprained his ankle. And dislocated his wrist. And-

A body thumped to the ground next to him and he could hear Clint and Natasha yelling. Who was he, Iron Man? No, no, no, he wanted to be James. Let him be James. Let him be a normal boy with normal parents who love him and normal thoughts and toys and emotions and he stared right into the lifeless eyes in front of him, feeling the warm blood seeping into his clothes and taking far longer than he should’ve and with a sickened feeling to realize that the blood wasn’t his own, and he wasn’t any more mortally wounded than he had been, but he was lying in a growing puddle of the dead man’s blood which was streaming from a gunshot right between those lifeless eyes. Normal children didn’t have to see this. James didn’t have to see this. Hell, normal _adults_ didn’t have to see this, and he was reminded, painfully, why he and Bruce were still considered civilians as he rolled onto his hands and knees and, amidst bloodshed and gunfire, puked his godforsaken guts out.

And then it was over, he realized as he instinctively flinched away from the hands that were ghosting over him, looking up into Natasha and Clint’s worried eyes. “Tones, what’s wrong?” Clint asked. “Were you hurt?” He shook his head slowly, still trying to process. It didn’t make sense again. He knew about death, had seen death, experienced death, hell he had caused death, but this was different, and it didn’t make sense. He didn’t want to try and make sense of it. He wanted to go home.

“I want to go home,” he said, and he was pretty sure it came out like a whimper, but neither of the assassins said a thing as Natasha gathered him into her arms and he let her, going boneless, tears starting to fall. This shouldn’t happen. He was a hero. Stark men are made of iron. He shouldn’t be crying. But he was.

And then came the sobs, and he felt so relieved, so cathartic, and it felt good to cry and he needed it so badly, and they let him. Natasha rocked him as Clint looted bodies for what he could, and they both murmured and cooed reassurances to him, and he nodded and tried to assure them he was okay, really, he would be okay. But none of them were convinced.

It didn’t take long for him to wind down and he found himself blinking sluggishly with his head on Nat’s shoulder, the only thing keeping his thumb from his mouth being the blood liberally coating his hands, some of which he suspected was his own. He was tired, and in so much pain, and just wanted to sleep. Natasha and Clint were talking plans, and that was fine. They didn’t need him anymore. He had done his job, and now (he couldn’t believe he was saying this) the adults could handle it. He didn’t want to be an adult anymore right now. He couldn’t.

“Tony,” Clint finally asked quietly, running a soft hand through his hair that Tony leaned into sleepily. “We need you to stay awake for now. Can you walk?” He shook his head slowly, blinking a bit as he tried to come up with a coherent way to explain his answer.

“My ankle,” was all that came out from all his thinking, and nimble fingers were brushing over the bruised and swollen skin, making him hiss and sniff with freshly awakened tears.

“Oh, baby,” Natasha breathed, and Tony found that he didn’t really mind the term of endearment, especially coming from her. Clint sighed a bit, and they shared one of their silent eye conversations that Tony probably would’ve found creepy if he didn’t do the same thing with Pepper.

“I’ll carry you,” Clint said finally. “On my shoulders, alright. But you need to stay awake, you’re the only one who knows the layout.” He nodded slowly again.

“And then we’ll go home, right?” It was stupid, and it slipped out before he had time to shove it back in, but his mind was still trying to drag him a thousand miles away to a place he thought he’d never get out of, and damn should he be over that by now. Natasha and Clint just nodded, all warm hands and concerned eyes and nothing like the blood they had just shed.

“And then we’ll go home.”


	10. 10: Not a Soldier

Clint decided very quickly that allowing Tony to ride on his shoulders with a recently dislocated shoulder was a bad idea, but still a better idea than him or Natasha not having their hands free, and a much better idea than letting the stupid genius walk on his own injured feet. He looked like something out of a horror movie, and although most of the blood covering the small body wasn’t his, some of it _was_ , and children couldn’t handle as much as Clint and Natasha could even with their astounding ability to endure. Not to mention Tony was already battered before any of this happened, and looked dead on his feet.

The problem was the tiny mechanic kept dozing off on Clint’s head and was acting increasingly like a fussy, overtired child. Which, Clint supposed, he was, and he was prone to this sort of attitude anyway, but not normally on missions or life-and-death situations. Though he was strung tight as a wire himself, Clint would’ve been happy to let Boy Wonder sleep, except that he was the one with the map nestled away in his brain, and they kinda needed it.

Another thing was how uncomfortable Tony’s behavior made him, although he didn’t want to admit it. Tasha acted like it was completely normal, although Clint had a feeling that was more because of her impeccable acting than true acceptance. He liked kids, he was good with kids, but this was also _Tony Stark_ , and he had never been anything but arrogant, loud, self-assured, self-fulfilling, obnoxious, and quietly philanthropic in the time they had known him. He had never been vulnerable, unsure, weak, scared -- no one in their right mind, not even his enemies, would use those words to describe Tony Stark.

Maybe that’s what he really was though. Just a man in a bad situation, forced to adapt. Clint could respect that, hell, he could identify with it.

That being said, there was no way he would ever let his discomfort show. He had a feeling Tony needed this; an opportunity to learn to trust the team, trust himself and his emotions, maybe an opportunity at a second childhood, although Clint didn’t know what could’ve been bad about the first (though he had his suspicions just from the genius’s behavior). He would support him. He never thought he would be saying this, but Tony was his friend, probably one of the best ones, and he secretly hoped he was considered a friend too. They got along well together, with similar humor and personalities, and sure, Tony could rub Clint the wrong way, but even good friends needed space, and they weren’t really _good_ friends yet.

But they were friends, Clint thought. He knew probably the most about the genius, aside from Bruce, and Natasha (although she had gained her information from files and spying). It was certainly a surprise, when one day the billionaire began to disclose sacred information about himself, and Clint had no idea what he had done to earn such trust, but it was nice, and then he found himself sharing things too, and that was also nice.

“ _Tony_ ,” Natasha said again, quiet and almost motherly. “Come on, baby, wake up. I know you’re tired. Just a bit more.” And there was another thing that was strange, the endearment Tasha had adopted for the genius. He didn’t even want to touch the motherly attitude she had come to adopt around him. But maybe that’s what they both needed. Tasha had always liked kids, and couldn’t have any of her own, and maybe Tony needed a parent right now -- maybe he’d always needed one.

He could feel frustration rolling off Tony in waves as his body tensed and he let out a long breath that sounded suspiciously close to tears. He rubbed the billionaire’s leg, trying to give him a little comfort, and heard another sigh.

“I can’t do anymore.” Clint was surprised to hear his voice crack. “There’s nothing I can do like this.”

“I know, Tones,” Natasha answered, reaching up to rub his arm. “But we need you to lead us. Help is coming. Just a few more hours.” Tony had managed to rig one of the soldier’s communicators to send a signal to Fury, which he hopefully had received. He felt Tony shift and stifled his discomfort at the pressure on his injured shoulder.

“Don’t...” Tony paused and they waited as he swallowed, licking his lips. “Don’t tell the others but... but I’m really scared right now guys. And I’m the one who got us into this.”

“You didn’t get us into this,” Clint responded, frowning as he and Nat shared a glance. “Cap should’ve listened to you when you were trying to warn us. And without you we would still be in that cage. I’ll let you in on a secret: I’m scared too.”

Tony snorted. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“Tony.” Natasha placed a hand on the ripped knee of his jeans, right next to Clint’s ear, ensuring he met her eyes. She looked about as serious as she could without seeming murderous. “In all my years as a spy and assassin, and in all my years working together with Clint, we have never been so completely helpless as we were back there. These people planned for us, for the Avengers, and all we could do was wait for an opportunity. When you’re in that situation, you always wonder if there's going to be an opening this time. _You_ are the wrench in their plan; that was all you.”

“I wouldn't lie to you, Tones,” Clint added. “And there's no reason to. It's alright to be scared. Most of the situations we're in are downright terrifying -- it's alright to crack sometimes. You weren’t trained for this. It doesn’t make you any less strong, or any less of a hero.” There was a moment of silence.

“No one has ever said something like that to me,” Tony whispered, his voice breaking. “Can I tell _you_ a secret?” There was a pause as he and Natasha shared a look. “I’m really struggling with all this. I’m actually not handling it well at all. It’s _hard_. I don’t... I remember everything, I know how I’m supposed to act and that I’m not acting normal, but I don’t want to be Tony Stark. I just want to be a kid, and act normal, and not get weird looks or be treated differently by you guys or anyone. I want to trust you guys -- I _do_ trust you -- but it’s hard for me to put my defenses down.”

“Then do it,” Natasha said bluntly. “Stark, we aren’t going to treat you any differently once you turn back. We’re your friends, and we understand the situation you’re in, and you know you can trust us. You’re always taking care of us; don’t deny it, I’ve seen what you do and heard Pepper’s complaints. Let us take care of you this time. I promise, it’ll be okay.”   
“Man, you’re a kid again!” Clint burst out, forgetting they were in the middle of a hostile environment for a second and glancing around for enemies. “Do you know how many people would love that? You should enjoy it, act like a kid all you want, that’s what I’d be doing.”

“You act like a kid already,” Natasha quipped with a smirk, and Clint felt a giggle shake Tony.

“Okay,” Tony croaked out, sounding distinctly teary. “Okay. You have to promise me you won’t treat me different. I’ll still be the same rich asshole once I’m back.” Natasha rolled her eyes and Clint snorted.

“You got it.”

* * *

 

His everything was sore. Even his _bones_ were sore, that should be both impossible and illegal. His ears were ringing loudly and honestly it made it really hard to focus on anything except how much it hurt and how _cold_ he was. He despised the cold.

“Steve!” The small voice barely broke through the ringing and he realized he hadn’t opened his eyes yet. It took far more effort than it should have to pry them open and bring them into focus.

Tony sighed in relief as Steve’s eyelids fluttered open, pleased despite the glaze that clouded the blue. “You’re finally awake, Cap.” Steve blinked slowly, staring, his eyes crossing a few times as he tried to get rid of the blurry vision.

“I feel sick,” he finally muttered, moving a hand over his abdomen like he was about to throw up.

“It’s because of the blood loss. You’re bones probably hurt too since your marrow is trying to regenerate the lost blood. It’ll go away soon, don’t worry.”

“Blood loss?” Of course, that was the thing Captain America would focus on. The facts, just the facts, everything else could come later.

“They were draining it to keep you subdued and probably to try and extract the serum. I destroyed the machine though, so they don’t have any of it anymore.” Steve watched as Tony puffed out his chest proudly, grinning, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Good job.” His head was starting to clear, and he could hear gunfire and shouting nearby. “Where are the others?”

“Clint and Natasha are outside taking care of the guards. They sent me in to get you. Thor and Bruce are still locked up, but I know where they are.” Steve started to sit up and Tony tried to push him back down. “Bad Cap! I know you aren’t better yet. Hawk and Widow have got it! Stay here, you need to regenerate.” Steve sighed but obliged, seeing the truth in the genius’s words, and for the first time since waking up _looked_ at Tony.

“Blood. Stark, you’re covered in blood!” What little bit of Tony’s skin was visible blanched, and he took a deep breath.

“It’s not mine,” he whispered, and Steve felt horror grow in him at the implication of those words. Maybe it would’ve been better if it had been Tony’s blood. The billionaire swallowed, closed his eyes, his body tense as he visibly tried to push down sickness. “Sorry, I should be able to handle this.”

“No, you shouldn’t. You aren’t a soldier, Tony. You aren’t even a grown up right now.” Tony didn’t move, didn’t say anything, and Steve’s eyes raked over him, identifying physical injuries and the much deeper emotional ones before sweeping the boy into his arms, standing and settling him on his hip. And it said something that despite how much they couldn’t stand each other, Tony rested his head on Cap’s shoulder and sighed. But maybe it just said that Tony was dead on his feet, and nothing more.

“Natasha has your shield,” was all the mechanic muttered. “Fury should be sending backup soon.”

“Alright.”

He stepped over the puddle of blood ( _his_ blood) on the floor and peered out the door just as the sound of gunfire died, watching Hawkeye and Black Widow turn to him. Widow nodded and Hawkeye grinned as he assessed his teammates, taking in their injuries and lack of supplies. Things weren’t looking good. He took his shield with his free hand as Widow handed it to him, hiking Tony up as he began to slip and getting a small noise of discomfort in response.

“You alright?” he asked Hawkeye, who looked worse for wear. He distinctly remembered the archer throwing himself out of the pilot's seat of the quinjet and wrapping himself around Stark and Widow, while Widow grabbed Banner and pulled him in, trying to protect the civilians. The man simply responded with a cocky grin.

“Bruce’s room is just around the corner,” Tony spoke up. “The weapons are a bit further on.”

“Right,” Steve muttered in acknowledgement. “Let’s go get Banner then. Do we know his status?”

“Not good,” Tony answered again, and Steve noticed he was carefully only looking at Natasha and Clint, who both shared a look. “I think they’re keeping him sedated to keep away the Hulk, but who knows what that’s doing to Bruce. We should be prepared for a Hulk-out.”

“I’ll be ready with a lullaby,” Widow answered, and Steve nodded before taking the lead, carefully holding his shield in front of Tony, who seemed to find it irritating and kept peering over it.

“Cap, c’mon!”

“I’m not moving it. You’re vulnerable right now, Stark. Let me be a good leader and protect you.” Tony seemed to shrink down, thinking hard about something, but Steve didn’t pay attention to it because honestly, it was far easier to hold onto him when he wasn’t squirming. He very specifically ignored the looks Widow and Hawkeye were shooting at them and each other.


	11. 11: Shocking Revelations

“Bruce. Brucie-bear, c’mon, that's it. Don't go green on me big guy.” He could hear Tony talking to him softly, nearly overwhelmed by the angry and hurt roaring of the Other Guy in the back of his head, but he managed to swallow down both his nausea and the urge to let go with a broken groan, bringing his hands up to massage his pulsing temples. He realized his hands were trembling, and very quickly put together the symptoms. Of course he had been sedated -- why wouldn’t he be? They wouldn’t want the Other Guy making an appearance and putting a very literal dent in their plans. 

He had to swallow down another wave of vomit as bad memories were dredged up. 

“Bruce?” Tony asked quietly, and he was surprised to hear how  _ small _ his friend’s voice sounded. “Are you alright? I don’t know what they were using, but I stopped it...” 

“Yeah,” he croaked out, licking his dry lips, deciding to wait a moment before trying to pry his eyes open. “I’m good. Thanks Tones.” 

“No problem, Brucie. The others are holding down the fort for us outside. Think you can stand?” 

“Give me a moment,” he muttered, taking a couple deep breaths and trying to get control of himself before opening his eyes. As he expected, vision was blurry and the little light there was in the room should’ve been arrested for assault. He blinked several times, rubbing his eyes and face, before slowly trying to lever himself up. Tony grabbed his arm, trying to help, and Bruce smiled at his friend. “How long was I out?” 

“Not sure. I don’t know how long I was out. But since I woke up, it’s been at least a few hours -- four or five maybe? Eye-patch should be on his way.” Bruce nodded, placing his feet on solid ground and trying to determine if he had enough balance to stand or not. He glanced over at Tony, who was still holding his arm, watching as his friend stared at the growing bruise in the crook of his arm. “Sorry,” Tony finally mumbled. “My hands were shaking when I took the IV out.” Bruce waved him off. 

“It’s no big deal, Tones. The Other Guy will have it healed in no time.” He took in his friend, seeing how he sat with one leg curled under him while the other dangled off the edge of the cheap cot they were resting on, his ankle swollen like a tennis ball. How his unencased wrist was also swollen, bruised; how he was trembling and clearly exhausted; how most of the blood covering the now small form wasn’t his, but some of it  _ was _ .

“Your pupils are all out of wack,” Tony pointed out bluntly as he searched Bruce’s face in concern, and Bruce couldn’t help but smile wryly at his friend. 

“It’s just the sedatives. It should go away soon. I’m fine Tony, really.” 

“Have you ever been fine?”

“That’s a question for another day. Have you?” 

They both fell silent as Bruce stood, shaking the weakness out of his limbs. Tony watched for a moment before raising his arms in the universal gesture for ‘up’, and Bruce obliged without thinking about it. It was a habit he and Natasha had gotten into over the past few days, and according to Steve they were the only two Tony allowed to do it, although he let Thor carry him on his shoulders. The hallway outside was silent, so Bruce assumed the others were waiting for them, only stopping to adjust his grip before stepping out. 

“Banner,” Steve greeted with a nod, while Clint gave him a grin and Natasha smiled slightly. “Here, let me have him.” The captain reached out for Tony and Bruce felt a small hand tighten almost imperceptibly on his sleeve, and realized his friend wasn’t comfortable with their captain right now. 

“He’s alright here,” Bruce responded. “Besides, you need two hands to fight and  _ I  _ won’t be any help.” Tony sighed silently, laying his head on Bruce’s shoulder and pressing his face into his neck. Bruce was warmed by the thought that his friend trusted him so much -- he knew how hard things like contact and comfort were for Tony. Steve frowned but nodded grudgingly. “I assume we know where Thor is?” 

“Iron Ass’s got the map memorized,” Clint quipped, and Bruce could feel Tony’s chest shake with laughter. 

“He’s almost out of it though,” Natasha added quietly. 

“Nap time?” Bruce teased lightly, glancing down to see Tony’s pout. 

“I’m not a child.”

“Technically, you are.” 

“Was he ever not?” Natasha joked with a grin, and Tony pouted harder. 

“Alright,” Steve interrupted, no-nonsense as always. “Let’s find Thor and get out of here.” 

“Are you sure you want to carry me?” Tony whispered, and Bruce could hear the insecurity that he only displayed when the two were alone, late in the lab. 

“Of course,” he answered softly. “There’s no way I’m letting you mess up that ankle more than you already have.” Tony laughed again and nodded, shifting slightly. 

“That’s fair. It hurts like a bitch.”

“I’ll bet. Directions?” 

Tony quietly led them, first to the room where their weapons were kept, which was still unlocked from when the genius had apparently raided it, and then to a room he swore held Thor. Bruce was surprised by how few people they encountered. He was starting to wonder just who these people were. Tony was dozing on his shoulder by the time Natasha had gotten the door open, and the rest of the team did not take the sight within well. 

Thor was tied to a chair, being pumped full of sedatives and attached to a machine which looked suspiciously like something out of  _ War Games _ , twitching and growling. His teammates froze, except for Tony, who squirmed out of Bruce’s grip and limped into the room, tearing wires from the machine and carefully pulling out the IV before climbing into Thor’s lap, tapping at his face. 

“Thor? Point break? C’mon, goldilocks, none of us could lift Mjolnir for you. If you don’t wake up she’ll be stuck here, and you know how she sulks. In fact, how did they move her in the first place? Did you carry her for them?” Thor’s eyes snapped open and Tony flinched back slightly before breaking into a smile. “Point break! Are you okay? That was some high voltage going through you, man, I bet it hurt.” 

“I am fine, young friend,” Thor breathed after a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists. “‘Tis nothing I could not withstand. It did not hurt as much as it shocked me.” Tony blinked before breaking into a grin.

“Is that a pun? Thor, you did a funny!” Thor grinned back and Bruce felt a smile twitch at his lips while Steve shook his head.

“The machine was simply incapacitating, not painful,” Thor answered, and Tony nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lighting up.

“Given what they were doing with Cap, I bet they were trying to see how much you could withstand.”

“Interesting,” Bruce muttered, knowing he and Tony had what Clint referred to as the ‘mad glint’ in their eyes. “I always assumed Mjolnir was the one which channeled the storms...” 

“Focus,” Steve interrupted before Thor could reply, the edge of a laugh on his voice. 

“Aye,” Thor answered grimly. “We must not remain here, friends.” He flexed before yanking free of his chains, making Tony jump again, and wrapping the genius in a tight hug. “I feared for you, my shield-brother.” 

“I’m alright, Thor.” His voice came out slightly muffled, his face pressed against the warrior’s chest. “Is that why you left Mjolnir?” 

“Guys, we’ve got incoming,” Clint muttered as he grabbed an arrow, fluidly notching it, Natasha checking her guns. 

“Banner, with Stark,” Steve ordered, full Captain America mode engaged. “Thor, we might need you. You up for it?” 

“Of course, Captain.” Thor stood, steady as always, and handed Tony to Bruce, holding his hand out and summoning Mjolnir with several crashes as the hammer busted her way through walls. Bruce held the genius close and rubbed his back as he flinched and shrank down at the noises, resisting the urge to flinch himself as he retreated farther into the room, now able to hear the pounding of boots and clinking of weapons. 

“You know,” he said softly to Tony, trying to distract both of them, “you could have just turned the machine off.” 

“I  _ could _ have,” Tony answered. “But it wouldn’t have been enough.” 

And that was something others didn’t see about Tony often enough: how fiercely protective and caring he was about the people he accepted into his life. Bruce smiled wryly, turning away from the open door, knowing neither he nor Tony needed to witness the battle -- hearing it was bad enough for both of them. 

“They regrouped,” Natasha muttered, wishing the team had their comms. Shouting over the sounds of battle was exhausting and inefficient. 

“Yeah, but not fast enough. The whole team is together now, they know they can’t take us on,” Clint responded, rolling his injured shoulder with a wince, trying to loosen it.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Steve interrupted, adjusting his shield and glancing over his teammates. “They managed to get us all here and keep us incapacitated. They’ve got to have some sort of backup plan. Let’s just hope it doesn’t work.” They looked at him grimly. 

“Fury should be here soon either way,” Natasha informed them, stretching, watching detached as the first set of boots rounded the corner ahead. “This isn’t the worst situation we’ve been in. We can handle it.” 

“Right. Okay, Thor, you and I are in front. Widow and Hawkeye are already injured, they don’t need any more hand-to-hand, so try not to let them get past you. Hawkeye, Widow, take shots when you have them. Don’t do anything stupid.” 

“He means you,” Natasha said, quirking the corner of her lip and glancing at Clint, who gasped in mock offense. 

“I  _ never _ do anything stupid.” 

* * *

 

Tony was pale. He had started to tremble. Bruce didn’t like that. The Other Guy  _ really  _ didn’t like that. He was staring at something just past Bruce’s shoulder, his eyes wide, and Bruce thought that was the first time he had ever seen Tony  _ afraid. _ Sad, panicked, depressed, angry, happy, he’d seen all of those. 

“Bruce!” he cried split seconds before the gunshot rang out and pain ripped through Bruce’s shoulder, making both of them scream, one with fear and one with pure rage. Tony scrambled back as Bruce grew, whipped around, and bitch-slapped the man who shot him so hard into the wall there were cracks. Hulk roared angrily, snarled at Clint (who was standing apologetically next to the door, apparently having let the man slip past in the first place), grabbed the now unconscious (or more likely dead) man and began to use him as a club. The battle, if it could be called that instead of a massacre, was over in five minutes, and Tony was hiding behind Steve’s legs and shield, peeking out at Hulk. 

“Jolly green?” he asked quietly, edging out as Hulk dropped his makeshift weapon. Steve put a hand on his shoulder but he shook it off with a look. “You alright, big guy?” Hulk turned to look at him before grabbing him and picking him up, sniffing at him. Tony smiled, although he didn’t look all that happy, waving to the others to stand down. “What’s up? Do I need a shower?” 

“Not Tin Man,” Hulk growled, glaring at him. The genius felt himself grow cold, confusion and fear racing through him. 

“What?” he asked numbly, staring at his friend. 

“Not Tin Man. Not Tony!” The giant roared and tightened his fist, making the billionaire gasp, and then he was flung, too shocked to even shout, Thor sidestepping and kneeling to catch him tightly against a broad chest. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, and damn, he was crying again, those were definitely tears, he really needed to reinforce his floodgates with some steel and titanium. 

The others were trying to calm the Hulk, Natasha muttering lullabies while Clint and Steve took up battle positions.    
“Hulk, that  _ is _ Tony,” Steve insisted while Hulk shook his head viciously, snarling and glaring at the boy. Tony felt his blood freeze in his chest, for the first time feeling fear strike through him at the sight of his friend’s alter-ego. The monster roared furiously, drowning out all other sounds as Fury and Hill rounded the corner with a team of agents and Tony stared, wondering what was going to happen to him next. 


	12. 12: Preposterous

Bruce kept apologizing, looking near tears, and although Tony kept reassuring him that the Hulk hadn't hurt him, the suspicious and confused looks from his team wore on him. He was a teammate, a friend; didn't they know him better than this, trust him? They couldn't tell it was really him? The doctors seemed to notice his growing melancholy, since they took him to a private room to be treated and refused to let the others see him.

He could guess what happens next. The others would tell Fury, and there would be tests, and interrogations, and probably a nice, homey cell. He was wracking his brain, trying to come up with a way to convince them he _was_ Tony Stark, short of showing them how to build an arc reactor or a flying suit of armor, but all it was doing was making him more distressed.

He was tense and in pain in more ways than one, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was in the helicarrier’s medical wing for three days, waiting for the questions, the suspicion, but getting nothing except Pepper’s short and infrequent visits. She was still dealing with his disappearance, which had apparently now been accredited to him dying and her trying to cover it up in order to stay in her high level position (which, even if he had died, she wouldn’t have to do, since he had left her everything to do with the company in his will). He felt like he was constantly on the verge of drowning, his chest tightening in a way that verged on a panic attack. His team didn’t come to see him, and it dredged up doubts that he thought he had long buried: “ _Iron Man, yes; Tony Stark, not recommended._ ”

The first time he saw any of his friends since being taken for treatment he was doped up with medication and being helped into a wheelchair that he was in too much pain to refuse, on his way to the quinjet that would take him back to his tower. He half expected Fury to jump out any moment yelling “Surprise motherfucker!” and arrest him. They didn’t talk, barely met his eyes except for Clint, who seemed determined to... what, prove the others wrong? or something like that. The ride home was silent, as was the elevator ride to the common floor where his room was. Natasha was pushing his wheelchair, which was the only thing that kept him from bolting, because he was pretty sure she wouldn’t let the others hurt him without empirical proof he wasn’t who he said he was. Clint standing stalwartly at his side helped too.

He wanted to go to bed -- just the short time from the hospital to home left him aching and exhausted -- but he knew that wasn’t in the cards as he was wheeled into the living room and Steve turned around to face him, arms crossed. He let a sigh escape him, which only managed to make his ribs hurt.

“Before you start,” he rushed out, not wanting to sit through an entire interrogation, “I don’t know why Hulk said what he did. I know you won’t believe me, but I am Tony Stark. I don’t know how to prove it to you.”

“Apparently,” Bruce said quietly, still not meeting his eyes, “you don’t _smell_ right. The Other Guy thinks you don’t smell like Tony.” Tony blinked before almost laughing in disbelief, searching the other’s faces.

“My... My smell? Guys, smells change as people go through puberty, different hormones become more active. I’m little now, of course I’ll smell different.”

“It wasn’t that,” Bruce almost whispered, bunching up his shoulders. Again Tony scanned hard faces, confused faces, questioning faces. The faces of people who he considered to be teammates, friends. Frustration and desperation boiled up in him, and he clenched his fists, trying to force down tears.

“I- How do I prove it to you?! How do I prove to you I’m Tony?” Steve clenched his jaw, looking unsure, and he forced himself out of the wheelchair, knocking it back into the wall. “I’m Anthony Edward Stark. I’m forty-three years old, son of Howard and Maria Stark. I graduated from MIT, created the best goddamn A.I. the world will ever see, made a miniaturized arc reactor and an overpowered suit of weaponized armor out of a box of scraps in a cave in Afghanistan after being tortured. I-” His breath caught on a threatened sob, and _dammit, not again_ , he was so weak. He couldn’t stop fucking crying for one minute in this body! Children were so weak! He could feel his shoulders and hands shaking, Natasha and Thor stepping towards him as Steve and Bruce stepped back. He stepped back and sank down into his wheelchair, unable to stand anymore, before jumping back up with a yelp, his hand going to the back of his head where a prickle had raced through it. “What the fuck?”

“Tony,” Natasha breathed, half in horror, as she watched his eyes grow lighter and lighter, to a brilliant iceburg blue, and the tips of his fingers and ears begin to redden, and his wounds heal themselves before her eyes. He looked down at his slowly coloring hands, jerking silently as his broken ribs knitted themselves back together, watching in horror as color spread up his arms, feeling the prickles of healing injuries.

“What?” he whispered, mostly to himself, terror and confusion and a sickened feeling spreading through him like ice. “What... What the fuck? Oh my G-God.” He looked up, trembling, staring at Clint, Steve, Thor, as they pulled out their weapons and readied themselves, _against him_ , Jesus Christ they had to help him! “I don’t u-understand. Oh my God those f-fuckers mutated me-” And he couldn’t help it anymore, hyperventilation coming on fast as tears streamed down his face. He wanted help, needed help, but couldn’t ask, didn’t know how, didn’t even know who _could_ help. “I can’t- I-” He needed to get to the lab, he needed to reverse this. Insatiable insecurity poured through him. Suddenly everything was too loud, too bright, too much. He knelt to the floor, covered his ears, and let himself cry.

Natasha was next to him, confused and ready for a fight but more concerned with the fact that if it was Tony, he was going through hell, and if it wasn’t, Clint was at her back with an arrow leveled at its head. “Tony. Tones, come on, let me see you. Calm down, calm down, we’ll get through this. Hey, we’ll get through this, I promise! We’ll figure it out, we’re the Avengers; Tones, c’mon, don’t do that...”

Thor was yelling, although he was always yelling so that wasn’t a surprise: “What is this ailment that afflicts you, Anthony?! What villain!”

Bruce was apparently mimicking Tony, doubled over and covering his ears, shaking as he tried to control the rage pounding inside him. Tony himself was shouting, pushing at Natasha and nearly incomprehensible. “I won’t let you tell Fury! Fuck Fury! I’m not going to Xavier either -- I don’t want to be in the X-men! I’m an Avenger! An Avenger!” Natasha was shushing him, trying to reassure him, but hesitant to touch his vibrant skin, unsure of what effects it could have.

“Of course you’re an Avenger. We won’t send you to those second-rates just because of this.”

“Thor,” Clint commanded, just loud enough to be heard, silencing the others. His bow was lowered now, still in a defensible position but not an immediate threat. “Stop shouting, it’s not helping. Steve, go call Pepper. Tell her to come _now_. Bruce, you alright man?” Thor looked sheepish, taking a step back and nodding in response. Steve met Clint’s hard eye over the archer’s shoulder, pale and unsure of himself, glad someone else had stepped up to be the leader for once. He too nodded his understanding, taking a step back before spinning quickly to find the landline, the one Tony had installed in the living room just for him because he was still pretty bad with cell phones. He collided with Bruce, grabbing his arm to steady him and stammering out apologies, stepping back as the scientist’s eyes flashed green.

“Dammit,” he growled, still clutching his head. “Dammit, dammit.” Natasha sprang up as defensive positions were once again taken. Tense silence rang in Tony’s ears as he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed himself against the wall, clutching at his arc reactor like someone was about to take it from him, like it was the only thing keeping him on the ground.

He wasn’t scared of the Hulk. Nothing Hulk did was his or Bruce’s fault. Hulk was like a child, that didn’t know how to control his emotions, but he wouldn’t intentionally hurt his friends, not ever, and Tony was his friend. But he didn’t recognize Tony right now, and that was scary, because he could do a lot to someone who wasn’t his friend, and only Bruce would regret it. Tony wasn’t scared of the Hulk, but maybe he was a little scared of what he could do. He was scared of what they could all do, if given the chance. Who knew how much they could screw up?

There wasn’t a roar, or the smashing of his possessions, or even Natasha performing a lullaby, as he expected. There were footsteps, the floor vibrating harder as they approached him, and warm breath ruffling his hair. With his eyes closed, he could imagine it was something less dangerous standing over him, like a horse or a nice dragon or whatever kids were into these days. Trolls? He didn’t understand why the others weren’t doing anything, until a rough touch poked at the side of his head, knocking him back into the wall again from where he had eased off it.

He didn’t want to open his eyes. He wasn’t afraid of the Hulk, but he wasn’t keen on looking at the Jolly Green Giant and being reminded just how much smaller he was than everything else now. He did it anyway, meeting acid green eyes that shone with primitive intelligence, feeling his hands shaking. He glanced down at them, willing them to still, only to remember why his chest felt so tight in the first place, panic spiking through him again and having him swallow roughly. Why weren’t the others doing anything, again?

Hulk poked him again, this time in the shoulder, and his hand shot up to his reactor again, clutching it desperately, needing the comfort of its consistency. Right, because the Hulk wasn’t being aggressive. He could read the shock on their faces past Hulk’s massive shoulder. He was absolutely dwarfed by the Other Guy’s size, even with him crouching to sort of meet his gaze.

“Tiny Hulk sad,” Big Green finally rumbled, pushing a hand behind Tony to pull him closer. “Hulk not like. No sad.”

It felt like Tony was back in space, suffocating slowly on the small amount of air trapped in his suit. Tiny Hulk? What the fuck kind of bullshit was this? What had those men been working on? If they had claimed they were an offshoot of HYDRA, or even AIM, he would’ve believed that they could do something like this, but they were, according to all intel, a completely independent group. How did they have the resources to do something like this? And why did the Hulk think he was a baby hulk?

And, even though there were all these far more intelligent questions bouncing around and making his head ache, he responded brilliantly, “I’m not green.” Hulk huffed out an angry breath, pushing the bangs back from Tony’s forehead and making him clutch the reactor tighter, his nails digging into his own skin through the shirt.

“You small Hulk. Smell like how Hulk smell.” How did Hulk know what he smelled like? What would Hulk even smell like -- gamma radiation? Sweat? Whatever serum Tony had been injected with? Considering it was a serum, Tony had assumed that the group had been attempting to replicate what his father had helped do to Steve, but maybe he was wrong? Or maybe he was right. There were some (uninformed) rumors that Bruce had also been working on replicating the serum, or his colleagues had been. Banner had never indulged the rumors, or shown any interest in Steve and the serum, but perhaps he had been wrong? Even if it hadn’t been Bruce, maybe he had been exposed somehow?

But that was preposterous. Tony had done his utmost to learn everything he could about Banner after the tragic (and fascinating, the Hulk part of it, anyway) incident in Harlem. So just what had the organization been aiming to do?

Either way, how was he now a baby hulk? It made no sense. Hulk had been formed through gamma radiation, and he was clearly not radioactive, nor was his blood, and he hadn’t been exposed to radiation, only injected with the serum. And the serum had the opposite effect from what happened to Bruce -- he was small, even younger, now, while the Hulk was larger than Bruce was, although one could not claim him to be older, mentally or physically.

By this point the Hulk had pulled him close, practically crushing him against a chest built like a brick wall. “Hulk hug,” he rumbled, sounding calm.

“You sure do,” was Tony's intelligent and muffled response. “Can someone help?”

“Hulk, buddy, let Tony go,” he heard Natasha say softly.

“Tin Man?” Hulk roared, looking around as Tony clapped his hands over his ears. “Where Tin Man? Don't see him!”

“Right here,” Tony responded tentatively, trying to squirm out of the crushing grip.

“Tin Man your puny human?”

Tony was so incredibly over this conversation. He was tired and just wanted to be away from human contact for awhile, so he could figure out how to turn his skin back to its normal color. “Can someone get Bruce back so he can let me go?”

* * *

 

It was hours later, far into the night, when Tony emerged from his room following the realization that unlike previously the hunger ache in his stomach wouldn’t retreat if he simply ignored it. He had, before this whole new fiasco, installed a lock on his door when he found out the previous one had been removed, irate at the clear breach of privacy. He had heard Steve and Bruce try to enter his room earlier, eventually giving up when he simply turned his music up and ignored them, but Thor, Clint, and Natasha stayed away.

Eventually, after an hour or so, the pigment of his skin had faded back to his natural color, leaving him confused and angry. He wanted to know what was going on with him, but he wasn’t a biologist, and was too strung out to read up on it. So instead he tinkered or napped or talked to JARVIS while writing his new upgrades, still miffed that security had been breached twice.

He crept down the hall, keeping his footsteps silent as he made a beeline for the kitchen, but either he wasn’t quiet enough or the others had collectively decided he needed a babysitter, because Clint leapt up from the couch as he crossed the living room.

“Tony!”

“Don’t,” he said harshly, his voice rasping past the lump in his throat that he thought he had managed to swallow hours ago. “Just don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s not a big deal, man.”

“Not a big deal?! I’m a freak!”

“You were a freak before,” Clint quipped, slightly anxious.

“Yeah,” Tony muttered, staring at the fridge. “But no one knew except me.”


	13. 13: Battered or Blue

It was early in the morning, way too early for normal humans, or (if you were like Tony) it was very late at night. He had just heard Steve peek into his bedroom, a bad habit he had developed that woke the genius every morning, before he left on his morning run. Silently, because he didn’t want to wake the others, Tony got up and dressed, grabbing his phone, flashlight, and portable repulsor and making sure the former was turned off before assuring himself that the light from the reactor didn’t show through his shirts. “JARVIS,” he whispered to the darkened room, knowing the slightest noise could wake the jumpy assassins that had taken to sleeping down the hall.

“ _Yes, sir?_ ” JARVIS responded in kind, his volume low and his voice already disapproving.

“Under no circumstances are you to tell the Avengers where I am or let them turn my phone GPS on without permission. You can tell them I’m going out around New York, and that I’m a big boy and I’ll be back by dinner.”

“ _Yes sir,_ ” JARVIS affirmed, disapproval still dripping from his voice. “ _If I may,bsir, I do not believe this is a good idea. You are significantly more vulnerable in this form._ ”

“You may not,” Tony snapped, slipping out of his bedroom and shutting the door quietly, pulling his shoes on as the elevator took him down to the ground floor. “I’m just going around the city, JARV. I’ve lived here long enough to know what places are safe for kids and what aren’t, and I’m not stupid.” 

“ _Certainly, sir_ ” JARVIS responded, but he didn’t sound all that convinced. “ _hope you feel better after your walk, then_.”

“Yeah. See you later J.”

The sun was just starting to rise and it was still cool, making him zip up his jacket and shove his hands in his pockets, but it wasn’t called the city that never sleeps for nothing. Even now there were many people walking, cars honking at pedestrians and each other, sirens ringing out across the city as they eerily echoed off the buildings. The streets were not dark, neon signs, street lights, head lights, and store windows flooding the scene in warm, otherworldly colors. He liked this time of the morning. This time of the morning was when he got to be no one, in the limbo between wakeful and restful, when he didn’t have responsibilities shoved down his throat.

He knew what route Rogers took on his morning run, and which routes were most dangerous for children, which included lots of crossing the street, because, let’s be real, in New York it sometimes seemed like traffic signals were more of a suggestion than a rule. He wanted to go to Rockefeller Center where he could hang out for a few hours in the Lego store and then stroll over to the Central Park area where he could get nice gifts for everyone that would hopefully placate the yelling. He also wanted to avoid areas with a large number of responsible adults walking, because despite what he had said no parent in their right mind would allow a five year old out and about in New York City. So he set a purposeful stride down the more abandoned streets of the city, where newspapers frequently acted as tumbleweeds and the smell of cigarettes and vomit were prevalent, making sure to shine his flashlight thoroughly along each one before taking his path until the sun rose high enough above the skyscrapers that he could see clearly. He wasn’t in a rush, and spent a good hour and a half simply wandering around the semi-abandoned and bustling streets, letting the atmosphere of New York calm him.

Even after everything the city had been through, it had rebuilt. He hoped he could too.

He lost track of his wandering, periodically scratching at his arm where the cast had resided until yesterday, only noticing when he was on the other side of Manhattan and could see the roads that would lead to Brooklyn and Queens. He turned back around, now heading back into the heart of Manhattan and towards Brox, using the same mostly empty path he had before. Vagrants were starting to appear now. It was almost time for school to start, and had it not been the weekend there would’ve been more kids out, walking or taking buses to school. He skirted around leering men with questionable scars, keeping his back straight and his eyes forward.

At some point he had stopped, lost in his thoughts which had grown louder and louder, surrounded by empty stores and scaffolding and watching a newspaper drift across the dirty street. He was somewhere in Manhattan, about ten minutes from Rockefeller were he an adult but more like 20 minutes now.

He’d had a hard time sleeping. He’d had a hard time sleeping because he had figured it out.

He was some sort of Deadpool-esque freak, someone that maybe was like the X-Men but not really because whatever had been done to him was absolutely useless at this point. They’d probably been trying to make a super soldier serum and fucked it up, and the age regression was a side effect. And since Hulk was technically a mutant himself, albeit by gamma radiation and not some X-factor shit, he probably identified with Tony. Smell? Maybe all mutants smelled the same. He didn’t think Hulk had met Logan or Wade yet, although Bruce had. Or maybe it was the fact that Tony didn’t smell human and then changed colors, both of which Hulk did.

Of course, what better person to test a biologically modifying, unstable, malfunctioning drug on than an enemy genius? It either works, kills him, or shrinks him. If it works, well, they screwed up; but they already knew the serum didn’t work, so that wasn’t a problem. If it kills him, at least he’s not helping the Avengers anymore. If it shrinks him, he is:

  1. unable to help the Avengers as he could before and perform missions as Iron Man
  2. easier to kill or kidnap
  3. if kidnapped, easier to train into their own little genius, particularly if they found a way to wipe his memory
  4. if trained into their own genius, able to fix the serum.



All were possibilities. All were terrifying to think about.

But they also made him angry. This was a fuck up on the level of Justin Hammer. They had messed up their serum, their plan, and, subsequently, his life.

He had stopped again, staring at the scaffolding next to him and wondering if there was a park somewhere nearby. Maybe some climbing and playing would work off some steam. He was full of nervous, childlike energy, and knew the best way to get rid of it was to be active.

He felt more than heard the displacement of air rushing past his head as a figure rushed over him and swung around the next corner, quickly out of sight. He blinked before running after them, but only came up to an empty street, staring around suspiciously, waiting for a sign of movement. A clumsy teen came stumbling out of the nearby alley, tugging on one of his shoes like he had just put it on and clutching a backpack to his chest, turning wide and concerned eyes on him. He narrowed his eyes back, taking a wary step back as the teen stood to his full height. “Dumpster diving?” he shot, and for someone who had no idea who he was the kid had a remarkable ability to mimic Steve’s affronted look.

“What are you doing out here, kid?” he asked worriedly, stepping forward as he slipped the backpack on. Tony tensed but didn’t step back, still eyeing the teen like he was determining if he was a threat or not. It seemed to put the boy on edge, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“Walking.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Got none.” The boy was silent for a moment, making Tony think he probably knew the feeling.

“Who looks after you?”

“None of your business.”

“Okay, well, where are you going?”

“Lego store at Rockefeller.”

“Do your guardians know where you are?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay, what’s your name?”

“James.”

“Last name?”

“You think I’m stupid? I’m not telling you.”

“Did you even tell me a real first name?”

“Guess.” A worried sigh escaped and Tony blinked.

“Why’d you run away?” Perceptive. This kid was very smart.

“I didn’t run away. I’m going back, eventually, just not right now. I needed to get out.”

“Is something happening in your house?”

“No.” Experience dictated that he not talk to quickly or fidget, nor should he meet their eyes or look too defiant. Instead, the best way to tell this sort of lie was to look confused. Most kids wouldn’t understand what ‘something happening in your house’ would mean. The ones who did either had tells, or adapted. Tony, unfortunately, had adapted. The teen nodded, seeming satisfied. “What’s _your_ name? It’s only fair.”

“Oh, right, sorry! I’m Peter, Peter Parker. I was just about to head home to help make lunch, actually, Aunt May is making chicken. Do you want to come with me? I’ve got some cool Lego sets myself and you won’t even have to share with anyone.” Tony eyed him warily.

He wasn’t stupid, and he loved his city, and had a great monitoring system. When Spider-Man, as he had been dubbed, had shown up a few months ago, research had been done. Tony knew his real name was Peter Parker, knew he was insanely smart (damn, he wanted him for the R&D department when he graduated), knew he was a high schooler, and knew, most of all, that he was safe. There was nothing but good talk about both Spider-Man and Peter Parker. He wasn’t some idiot who would just walk away with any stranger that approached him.

But he sure looked like it to Peter, when he held out his hand for the teen to take and lead him. It was a good thing he found him before anyone else. He hesitated before stooping to pick the kid up, who glared (which was frankly terrifying for a five year old, to be honest) before seeming to resign himself, relaxing. “I can walk, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been walking all morning, right?” He shot James a grin, and wondered what had really happened to drive a small boy like this out of his house and into the unsafe city.

“Yeah, but I’m not a _baby_.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a toddler.”

“Hey! At least I’m not a dumb pre-teen!” Peter gasped in mock offense, and James rolled his eyes, but there was a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Stupid spider kids,” he muttered in a soft voice. He probably didn’t expect Peter to hear it, but having the senses he did he picked up on it easily, and it turned his blood to ice.

“What do you mean about spider kids?” he asked, going for nonchalant but landing somewhere between panicked and nasally, tripping over his words. Who the hell was this kid? What did he know? Was he some new mutant? Had Peter been knocked out and was dreaming?

Tony’s eyes widened. So the rumors about heightened senses were true -- he could probably rival Cap or Hulk. Not to mention the super strength. The kid was, frankly, scrawny, and most teens couldn’t hold a five year old for more than a few minutes before putting them down. “You teenagers are all leg, like spiders. So tall,” he explained away easily. Peter didn’t seem convinced; he could still feel the teen’s tense muscles.

And, Tony realized, it probably didn’t help but add to the suspicion that he didn’t exactly act like a normal five year old. He spoke too clearly, used too many big words, was far too independent. Five year olds were in, what, preschool? Kindergarten? They were clumsy, and excited, and he was neither of those things. No wonder Peter had thought something was wrong. And it was too late to change how he acted now, it would only make the teen more suspicious.

Peter eyed the boy, figuring if anything, a five year old couldn’t be _that_ big a threat, right? “You need food!”

“And Legos!” James shouted in excitement before blushing bright red, and Peter laughed.

“And Legos."

* * *

 

Peter watched the boy carefully as he helped May with lunch. He and her had contemplated calling the police, but since he highly suspected James wasn’t his real name, they had both decided to just wait until the boy told them he wanted to go home and then take it from there. He was safer with them anyway.

After the small outburst earlier he had been incredibly subdued, blushing whenever they offered him something that would normally excite a kid his age. They did manage to convince him it was fine to play with the Legos, but only after both of them got on the ground and started building something first. He had already build a robot, and a surprisingly realistic dog, and was now building a skyscraper, standing on the couch after a glance over to make sure that they either weren’t looking or didn’t care. Aunt May pursed her lips but didn’t say anything, only sharing a glance with Peter.

“You know,” May said quietly, glancing over at James to make sure he didn’t hear, “I have half the mind to not let him go home. It’s very clear they don’t treat him right.”

“He’ll just end up in foster care,” Peter answered quietly. “Do you think that would be better for him? You’ve seen the New York system, it sucks.” May pursed her lips again but dropped the subject, checking on James every once in awhile.

Tony built without thinking, and found himself staring at a rough approximation at a small-scale DUM-E, a dog because he thought it would be challenging to build out of blocks (it actually wasn’t), Stark Tower before it had been (destroyed) remodeled into Avengers Tower, and a blocky and nearly unrecognizable replica of the giant worm thing the Chitauri had brought with them through the portal in the battle of Manhattan. He stared at what his hands had unwittingly built, and then found himself angry.

Why had he been put through all this? Why was it him?

But he wouldn’t have changed anything. If another portal opened and he had a nuke on hand, he knew he would do the exact same thing again, and probably die this time doing it. That didn’t mean he wasn’t angry at the stupid aliens for ruining his life, ruining his mind with a disorder that he didn’t know how to seek help for.

He smashed his model into the ground, tearing it apart with the same nimble fingers that had originally put it together, rearranging it into something better. The quinjet. He liked the quinjet, working on it calmed him, though it wasn’t as much fun to tinker with as his suit was, especially after he had painted it red and gotten yelled at for messing up the camouflage (which wasn’t needed, because he had given it stealth shields, but Cap didn’t really trust technology). He carefully placed the model, which was not to scale at all, on the balcony of Stark Tower before picking up DUM-E, deciding he’d indulged himself enough for the day and wandering into the kitchen. The Parkers looked up, and he was unable to resist smiling, their resemblance astounding. “Can I help with something?” They both smiled back, matching, goofy grins and sparkling eyes, and seemed genuinely happy to see him. It reminded him of how Pepper looked, sometimes, and he wondered when the last time someone other than her had looked at him like that.

“We can set the table,” Peter said with a grin. “Lunch is almost ready anyway.” Tony nodded, carefully placing his mock DUM-E on one of the chairs as Peter got out plates and forks, handing them to him and letting him set them out. The table was too tall for him, and he had to climb on the chairs to reach, but that was fine. It all felt homey, and warm, and he decided he liked it here. There were no expectations. He could just be James, and not Tony.

Lunch was simple, chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn, but honestly Tony prefered it that way. He would much rather eat burgers and fries and something painfully American than things billionaires were supposed to like, no matter how much he had to eat caviar and hors d'oeuvres. He glanced at the Parkers: May used a fork, not wanting to get food under her nails, but Peter dove right in, eating ravenously. He figured it would be weird for kids to eat chicken fingers with utensils, plus finger foods were fun, so he copied the teen, humming happily. Peter and May noticed his slight hesitation and shared their own glance.

The Parkers were nice, and funny. They felt like a family, and he realized he was far too comfortable here. He was increasingly loud, animated, and giggly, but he found he preferred it to the Avengers where he had to watch what he said and pretend he felt like a hero when he didn’t. Peter matched him in volume and animation every step of the way, and May laughed like bells, and Tony wished he could’ve stayed there and never gone back.


	14. 14: Finding

If Peter was being honest, he had no idea how to deal with children. Middle schoolers? Okay. Adults? Got it down. Anyone under the age of twelve? They took naps, right. 

It seemed like he was doing alright though. Aunt May was washing the dishes while he did math homework; James had somehow ended up on his lap, using his phone to play a mindless puzzle game and solving the problems too fast for a normal kid, but who was Peter to judge. His hand was in James’s curls, slowly getting the boy to relax. Every once in awhile he would glance at Peter’s equations, but didn’t seem overly interested in them. 

Eventually Peter focused on his homework, letting his hand drop comfortably around James’s waist. The boy squirmed a bit before settling again, placing a hand on Peter’s wrist as if to make sure his arm wouldn’t move. May had just settled down in the living room to watch TV when James interrupted Peter’s studies. 

“That’s wrong,” he said quickly before clapping a hand over his mouth, looking like he had just killed a kitten. Peter blinked, and frowned. 

“What do you mean?” James huffed, pointing to the last two problems on his math homework. 

“You’re doing it wrong. You don’t have the correct formula.” Peter frowned, looking back over his homework. He thought the answers seemed weird, but he wasn’t sure what he was doing wrong. 

“We’ve got a little genius here, huh?” May said, ruffling James’s hair as she passed to get something. James practically preened. 

But no normal five year old should’ve known anything about advanced calculus, no matter how smart they were. Peter’s anxiety from before came niggling back, poking at his brain. But his spider senses, as he liked to call them, weren’t indicating anything abnormal, and James certainly didn’t seem dangerous, just a little lost. He shrugged it off again, letting James wriggle off his lap and run to the living room with May to watch with her. His hand brushed against something stiff jutting from the boy’s chest and he watched James flinch and brush it off with a visible shake. Something was weird. 

“So,” May said softly as the commercial came on, brushing her fingers through James’s hair as he leaned into her side. “How are we going to get you home, young man?” Tony frowned. He probably did need to tell someone where he was. He said he would be back by dinner, but he had planned to text Natasha before then anyway -- she would understand his need for some space and leave him alone until he was ready. It was already after lunch, and Cap was probably hysterical by now. 

“I can call them,” he finally sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “They’re probably worried anyway.” 

“Hey, I’m not trying to force you out.” She tilted his chin to look at him, studying his face closely. “You can stay here as long as you need, James. And if you want anything...” 

And  _ oh _ , they really did think he was abused. Didn’t that dredge up bad memories? Why couldn’t the Parkers have been there...  _ Oh no _ . 

Tears were welling up as his nose started to run and he wiped it on his sleeve, blinking desperately. “Thanks,” he said, and his voice came out cracking. “It’s not like you think, Ms. Parker, but thank you. I’d really like to come back here sometime.” 

“Of course, sweetheart. Would you like me to talk to your parents for you?” He shook his head, taking in a deep breath. 

“No. It would probably just make Cap more angry.” 

And then the solution to the problem that had been eating in Peter’s brain burst into life and he stood, staring with wide eyes. “Mr. Stark?!” 

May looked at him like he was crazy, but Tony glanced away, not meeting his eyes. “Stark?” May said, confused. “I didn’t know he had a kid.” 

“I don’t,” Tony said softly as he turned on his phone. “That would be me. A superhero thing happened.” It was a lame explanation, but it was pretty much what he had at this point. “Like I said, it’s not like you think. I just needed to get out of the house.” Peter was still staring, confusion and bewilderment and amazement and excitement all rolled into one, but May  _ saw _ . She saw Tony Stark, a man in the middle of his life, closing himself off from the world, drawing away from happiness, and a child that had things done to him which were  _ exactly _ what she thought. She saw Tony Stark, a man who needed love and who had never been a child, and now that he was unfortunately a child again, needed, but didn’t have, guidance. 

May had never expected to become a parental figure, a mother. Then Peter fell into their laps, and Ben was gone, and she had risen to the occasion. And now she could see children like she hadn’t before, in a way mothers only could. 

But she could also see Tony Stark in a way a lot of others couldn’t, because she had grown up alongside him. She and her peers had watched him stand in his father’s shadow, throw smiles like candy to placate the masses, and watched him destroy himself slowly. They saw his rebellion for what it was, because at some point all of them had felt the same, and ached for someone to help him like people had helped them. No one would, because Tony Stark was much better at playing the game than they were, and as they grew up he faded from their minds. 

But now May could see that they should have done more. Someone should have done more, at least. A man, a boy, had suffered. Suffered alone, hiding in the limelight of the masses. 

And they had watched. 

She pulled Tony to her side, wrapping him in a tight hug, ignoring his bewildered protests. “Mr. Stark,” she said softly but firmly, cutting him off. “Peter and I are here for you, whether you are ‘James’ or not. You can come visit us any time, do you hear me?” She understood, vaguely, how hard it would be for Tony to trust them, for him to believe they didn’t want any money or expect anything from him. Maybe she was stupid, for openly inviting someone as eccentric and reckless as the billionaire into her and Peter’s lives. But she had an inkling that even though Tony was a hero, there was no one left to save him. Everyone knew Stark’s story -- hell, it was the tragedy of the century. At least when she and Peter lost people, lost things, they still had each other. Clearly Stark didn’t have that kind of support, and since Peter had decided to drag in a stray it seemed they were the ones who were going to give it. 

Peter seemed shocked into silence, but Tony chuckled. “Thanks Ms. Parker. I may take you up on that. I really enjoyed lunch.” She smiled at him and let him pull away as his phone rang. 

“Anthony Edward Stark,” Bruce all but growled, clearly at the end of his restraint. Tony flinched. “Why the  _ hell _ -... You know what, just  _ stay the fuck put _ .” Tony stared at his phone for a second before looking at May timidly. 

“You might have a bunch of angry superheros banging on your door in the next few minutes.” 

“Well you-!” Peter sputtered, stopping himself before seeming to think better of it. “You’re  _ Tony Stark _ and you’re a toddler now and you just decided to wander around New York City! No wonder they’re angry.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t need a dressing down from you, spider-boy.” Peter flushed, glancing at Aunt May, but she didn’t seem to think anything of it. “I’ll get enough of that soon. Despite what everyone else seems to think, I’m not stupid, and I do know how to avoid getting kidnapped and handle myself in the case of a kidnapping.” 

The Parkers fell silent. 

* * *

 

Seven minutes later found the door kicked in by Steve, Tony curled up on the couch tucked under May’s arm, sucking on his thumb as they watched soap operas and Peter did homework. They all jumped and Tony sighed sadly. “Did you have to kick in their door, Cap?” Steve was breathing hard, although Tony thought that was mostly from anger, Clint and Natasha glaring over his shoulders. 

Clint shouldered past the super soldier, grabbing Tony’s arm and pulling him off the couch, dragging him a distance away from May as Peter stood to watch from the doorway to the kitchen. An angry, wordless sound came from the blond’s throat as he grabbed Tony’s shoulders and shook him, baring his teeth. “What the fuck were you thinking?” 

“Mostly about Legos,” Tony responded before he could think it through, focused on keeping his face blank and forcing down the bile that burned in his chest, earning another shake for his trouble. He kept his gaze even, watching Clint’s face, looking for signs; and seeing them. He swallowed thickly, refusing to break eye contact, drawing himself up and readying himself for the attack that he rationally knew wouldn’t come.  _ Probably _ , a small voice whispered, and he swallowed down acid. 

Clint worked his jaw, considering shaking Stark again -- maybe it would knock some sense into him -- but Natasha called him softly, and he glanced at her. Her face was impassive, but her eyes burned, even though she shook her head minutely. He bared his teeth at her as well, digging his fingers into Tony’s shoulders in the hope for some reaction before letting go and backing away, glaring at the child. Stark remained stalwart, still meeting his eyes, empty of remorse. 

“Are you goddamn stupid?” Steve whispered behind him, anguish that Stark mistook for rage barely contained, his voice shaking. He stepped forward, his shield gripped tightly, like it was the only thing grounding him. He was trembling from fear and adrenaline. “Jesus, you do some stupid shit, but this? This is too far. What were you doing!” Tony gestured to the side. 

“I was making the tower. It even-” Steve lost it. He didn’t mean to, and he hated himself for it, his shield breaking the tower to pieces and making it clatter to the floor, blocks shedding over Tony’s feet and bouncing off his legs. Stark paled, but didn’t flinch, and sighed soundlessly, like it was something he expected. “I understand that you’re angry, but that was really uncalled for.” 

“Uncalled for?” Clint snarled. “Uncalled for was waking up and JARVIS-” 

“Stop,” Stark commanded, holding up a hand, and for all that they lived with the man, had conferences with the man, watched the man at his most harmless, when he used his press voice like that it was still hard for them to disobey. Steve was always stricken by how much it made him sound like Howard. 

“Tony, we just want to protect you,” he said after taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Natasha was eyeing the Parkers, who had turned off the TV and were staring her down with identical expressions and crossed arms. 

“By locking me up in my own tower like Rapunzel.” Suddenly Tony glared at him, his hands in fist, and  _ God, why hadn’t he noticed earlier, _ he was shaking. “You guys seem to forget that I am the oldest, besides Bruce. And I have lived this life, a life of constant fear, every single moment. I know how to handle myself. I know. Everyone only remembers Afghanistan, but that wasn’t the first. You think that was the first? I’m the son of Howard fucking Stark, I’ve been hunted since the day I was born!” His voice was shaking, forced out past a lump in his throat. Every instinct was screaming at him to stop talking, to fear the retaliation for what he was saying, but even then, he didn’t. These people wouldn’t hurt him, not on purpose. “I know how to keep out of trouble. How to get out of trouble. How to defend myself. You have no idea, no idea what goes on in my head. I needed time, and I said I was going to come back. But none of you trust me.” Steve raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s not that we don’t trust you.” They stared each other down, and Steve couldn’t help but remember the first time they met, their first fight within minutes of meeting each other. They had come a long way, and he would even call them friends, but it was true that he still couldn’t figure Stark out. “Tony, you need to figure out whether you want us to treat you like a kid or like an adult. Because you’re giving us mixed signals here, and you can’t have both.” Tony stared for a moment like he was looking at someone incredibly small and incredibly stupid, a look that Steve hated on a normal day and absolutely despised on this one. 

“ _ You’re _ getting mixed signals? How the fuck do you think I feel? Listen, I know what I want and need, and I told you guys that, I wasn’t lying. But Jesus Christ Steve, I’ve lived more of my life as an adult than I have as a kid, and it’s been a long time since I was this age. So I’m fucking trying my best, alright, it’s a goddamn work in progress. And then I’m-- I’m  _ kidnapped  _ and I’m a  _ freak _ and...” Tony took a couple steadying breaths which could’ve been taken for anger or tears. “I know how to take care of myself. I do that damn well. I have no fucking clue how to let others take care of me. Especially not... I don’t have a single way to cope, alright? I needed some fucking time, because I could not stand your ‘America is disappointed in you’ face if I went to the shop, or caused havoc, or tried to bottle myself up. So I took some goddamn time because I’ve been alone my whole life and suddenly you people are surrounding me and  _ I can’t breathe! _ ” Tony was shouting, clutching at the arc reactor convulsively, his eyes now averted. He was trying, why couldn’t they see he was trying? He wanted this, he wanted to let himself trust them, to let them take care of him, but he didn’t know how, God knows he didn’t know how. 

Peter could see the other Avengers faltering. “Tony,” Clint said softly, stopping abruptly when he stepped forward and the boy instinctively flinched. Fear shined on Tony’s face for less than an instant before he managed to school it back to calm, but he knew it was enough. His friends were staring at him. He didn’t want to talk about this, he didn’t want to remember it. No way in hell did he want to talk about it with Steve, of all people. His throat felt tight as he swallowed and clutched the arc reactor once more, his shirt bunched up around his fist. 

“Anthony,” May said softly, and he looked at her, desperate for something grounding, something real, because this could not be happening to him. The use of his full name would usually make him start and sneer, but it was so natural, so loving, it sounded like his mother and God did he miss her, he needed her, he needed Jarvis. “Would you like to stay with us for a few days? You could sleep with Peter and have some time to breathe. Try to get your head on straight.” He nodded reflexively, almost jerking as he stepped towards her before darting the rest of the way, burying his face in her thigh and wrapping his arms around her leg. 

Her hand went to his hair automatically and she could feel him shudder against him, taking rasping breaths that made her frown. She glanced up to see the Black Widow mirroring her expression while Captain America and Hawkeye still seemed frozen; it was clear who the sensible one was, and May let herself feel a little bad for Widow being the only female on the team. “Pete?” she said softly and he nodded, running to the bathroom. She could hear him rifling through the cabinets as the Widow looked at her warily, clearly not trusting. May couldn’t blame her in the slightest. Captain America was slowly paling, staring at Tony like he was about to die, his hands twitching like he wanted to help but had no idea how. May brushed her hand through the genius’s curls, amazed at herself for her sudden ability to adapt, biting her lip and trying to figure out a way to calm the panic attack. Widow’s face softened. 

“Antonio,” she crooned as she knelt, meeting his eye with a smile as he peeked out at her, his eyes bright and his breath wheezing. “Devi respirare, gattino.” He shuddered again, his shoulders slumping, copying her exaggerated breaths. It didn’t seem to help much. “Bene, bambino, continua. Va bene.  Puoi stare qui. Puoi parlarmi?” He shook his head against May’s leg, his hands trembling as he signed frantically, and she cocked her head to the side, watching. Hawkeye looked startled but watched as well, rubbing at the shell of his ear. 

“Sh, Tony, it’s alright,” the blond interrupted after a moment. It seemed to May that Tony had simply been signing the same thing over and over. “It’s alright, okay. We aren’t mad, we were just scared. We care about you, you idiot.” 

“I found it!” Peter called as he came running back in, thrusting the inhaler into May’s hand with a worried smile. She smiled back, kneeling but not stopping her petting of the boy that clung to her. 

“Anthony? You’re having a panic attack, but that light in your chest must be making it hard to breathe, huh. I’ve got an inhaler here. You know how to use it, don’t you?” Tony looked up at her, his eyes shining, and nodded, holding his hand out for the steroid. He coughed on the first inhale, clutching his chest, but after a minute his breathing was easier. May watched him carefully, continuing to smile. 

“Antonio,” Widow spoke up after he calmed and sagged, still using the same soft voice. “Pep e porterò le tue cose, gattino. Assicuratevi di chiamare.” He looked at her and she watched him steadily, gaze flicking at May and Peter momentarily. “Don’t ever feel like you have to hide from us, Tony,” she muttered softly, and Tony flinched. 

“I can’t,” he choked out, looking trapped. “I-”

“It’s alright. Tony, you don’t have to talk to us either.” Hawkeye glanced at Widow and she narrowed her eyes. “But we’re here. And we’d better go, Bruce is probably ready to bust a vein down in the car.” 


	15. 15: Please?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, it's been awhile! It's cool, I'm back. Feel free to send me your suggestions and prompts for this story! After this there won't be a lot of plot stuff for awhile, just gonna be some nice fluff/angst one-shots and things like that, and suggestions for what you'd like to see is greatly appreciated! Also, check me out on tumblr (ifdragonscouldtalk) for more updates on other projects and to chat with me! I hope you like this chapter, it's a lot of filler but I'm trying to get back into the groove of this story after some discouraging messages.

 

“What the hell makes you think you have the authority to do that?!”

“He flinched,” Clint breathed, earning a sharp glance from Natasha where she was standing stiffly, taking Fury’s abuse.

“Of all the stupid ass decisions you’ve made in your life, Romanoff, this has to be the stupidest! I’m bringing him in. I let him off the carrier because you and Cap promised me you’d watch him, and that clearly isn’t happening.”

“What I think gave me the authority to do that,” Natasha said calmly as Fury paused for a moment, “is the fact that we have a panicked, depressed, PTSD-prone little Stark and a newly upgraded JARVIS on our hands, and I watched two civilians stare down two assassins and a super soldier before singlehandedly calming Stark down, never treating him like he was anything but a scared little boy, and I realized that is what Stark needs if we don’t want him to break. More than that, you have no authority over Stark, and you have minimal authority over the rest of the Avengers. You may have hold over Clint and I, but that’s it. And I promise you, sir, you wouldn’t be able to keep Stark on the helicarrier if you tried, even if you had all the Avengers on your side. Which, you don’t.” Fury opened his mouth angrily to respond, but Natasha forged onward. “Stark isn’t going to stay pent up in this tower much longer. Not only because he’s a child now, but because he’s _Stark_. And he’s not an idiot. If he trusts the Parkers, then I trust the Parkers.”

“He trusted you,” Fury pointed out, his jaw clenched, and Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“He trusted Pepper,” she almost spat back. “And Pepper didn’t know any better than to trust me.”

“You said Pepper _didn’t_ trust you.”

“Pepper,” Natasha sighed, “is a clever woman, and she didn’t trust me. Tony trusted Pepper to take me out if I ever did something that justified her distrust.” A muscle in Fury’s jaw twitched.

“I think you should go,” Bruce said softly before the Director could open his mouth again, still slightly green around the edges. “It wouldn’t do well to make an enemy of the Avengers, Director. I believe we’ve proven that before.” Fury glared before turning, his coat billowing behind him as he stalked into the elevator that JARVIS helpfully opened for him.

“One day, you’ll regret siding with Stark,” he muttered under his breath as he passed Steve.

“Doubtful,” Steve answered dryly, his arms crossed.

“He flinched!” Clint screeched as soon as the elevator doors slid closed. “He flinched! Jesus Christ, how did we not notice it before?! What the _fuck_!”

“Clint, shut up,” Natasha hissed, leading Bruce to the couch as his hands shook and his eyes flashed green. “Stop yelling, don’t be an ass.”

“He was _abused_ , Natasha, this is _serious_.”

“It’s gonna be real serious when Hulk puts his fist through your face,” Bruce growled through gritted teeth, and Clint’s mouth closed with an audible click of his teeth.

“I think perhaps we should all take a breath,” Thor said gently.

“Him being in a house full of super soldiers and spies is only going to make this all worse. We saw this coming, we knew he wasn’t going to stay locked up in the tower.” Steve sighed, his shoulders sagging, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s probably for the best that he found those two. JARVIS, do you trust them? You ran background on them?”

“ _Extensively, Captain. They are more than trustworthy. Sir will be fine._ ”

“There’s nothing we can do about any of it now,” Natasha said calmly, rubbing at Bruce’s shoulders. “We can only wait for him to calm down and come back to us.” She looked up, her eyes piercing. “And he will. And we will act _normally_. There’s a reason he didn’t tell us, Clint, it’s none of our business. We all have things that are none of anyone else’s business.”

* * *

 

May looked up at the knock on the door, glancing down at Tony. He was curled against her side, under her arm, his thumb in his mouth, watching the TV absently through bleary eyes. She looked back up at Peter, who had turned in his chair, still doing homework at the table. ‘Can you get that?’ she mouthed, and he nodded, shooting her a grin. She could tell he was proud and surprised at her actions earlier -- honestly, she was just as surprised as he was. But the fact that this was Tony Stark didn’t change that he was also a little boy right now, who needed someone to take care of him. Maybe an unbiased someone like May and Peter would do better than a tower full of superheros.

“Hi,” she heard a soft voice from the doorway. “I’m Pepper Potts, I’m here-”

“Ms Potts!” Peter gasped, and May rolled her eyes, an indulgent grin spreading across her face. It was good Peter had ambition, but sometimes she wondered about how he had found his role models. “I’m Peter Parker, it’s such an honor to meet you!” There was light laughter as the door closed and Peter led Pepper into the living room. May glanced down to see Tony was focused on his CEO now, his thumb out of his mouth. He smiled lightly at her.

“Hey Pep,” he sighed tiredly, smiling a bit more when she crouched down in her heels to brush the curls off his forehead.

“Hey Tones. Having a tough time?”

“I’m sure not as tough as you, trying to handle the company...”

“It’s not a contest,” Pepper said with a smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I brought your bag.” May glanced up and saw Peter was indeed carrying a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “They said you’d be staying here a few days?”

“Are you upset?”

“No, I’m not upset. If this is what you need, I trust your judgement. I know you’ve been struggling.” She tilted her head, and they watched each other for a moment, the two connected by a deep understanding. “You know you can let go. They don’t care if you don’t act like an adult. They won’t judge you.”

“It’s hard,” Tony answered, his voice soft.

“I know,” Pepper sighed. “Make sure to call them, alright? They worry. And keep your phone charged, or JARVIS will freak out.”

“ _Quite, sir._ ” Tony laughed.

“Alright, I have to go. You can call me, whenever you need, babe.”

“I know.” He leaned up to kiss her cheek before she stood, straightening her skirt.

“Thank you for looking after him,” she said to May with a genuine smile.

“It’s no problem. He’s a good kid.”

“Hey! I’m not a kid!”

“Sure, Stark.” Tony pouted, crossing his arms, and Peter stifled a laugh behind his hand. May and Pepper grinned at each other.

“Call me if he gives you too much trouble. We’ll reimburse you for the food and whatever else he uses.”

“That’s not necessary! We invited him!”

“We want to,” she and Tony said at the same time. Pepper shook her head, smiling. She waved as she turned. “I really do have to go now! But my phone number is in the bag, so call me if something happens, really, Ms Parker.”

“Of course, Ms Potts. Thank you for letting him stay here.”


	16. 16: Parallel Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talon's back, back again! No, I still haven't abandoned this. Yes, I am very sorry for the wait. No, I still don't know what I'm doing. Please send me prompts for what you want Tony and the Parkers to do! I'm planning on a couple more chapters of them alone, but I don't have any ideas for it.  
> To everyone who left super kind words: Thank you so much. There was so much encouragement from the last chapter, and I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this. I was still feeling stuck and unsure of where I wanted this story to go, and was debating simply scrapping and rewriting it, but in the end here we are! I hope you like this chapter of PURE FLUFF!

Getting through dinner was easy, particularly since Mr Stark seemed to be tired out from the excitement. He sat quietly as Peter and Aunt May traded positions so May could make dinner, settling back against Peter’s side easily and continuing to watch the mindless cartoons. Peter didn’t mind it, although he was bursting with questions -- he was pretty tired himself. He had gotten up early to go patrolling, and everything had been just as exciting for him as it had been for Mr Stark. He wasn’t as anxious as he thought he might be if he met his role model, but maybe that was because he met him in such a human way. He couldn’t help the one question that escaped him though, glancing at the kitchen to make sure May really was busy. 

“How did you know?” 

“I’m a genius, kid,” Tony muttered, his eyes not straying from the TV. “Plus you’re bad about keeping the secret. It’s a miracle I’m the only one that’s found out -- but like I said before, I’m a genius.” 

“Are you gonna tell May?” His voice felt small and he could feel his shoulders trying to crawl up to his ears. 

“I’m not gonna tell anyone you don’t want me to tell. You’ve got your reasons for the mask, and I get it. It’s not like I always planned to let the world know I was Iron Man. I am stopping you from going out in your pjs anymore. I made you a suit. I was going to come over the end of the month and give it to you, before all this happened. You’re gonna get hurt eventually, and those pajamas aren’t going to protect you. Obviously it’s going to need some feedback and tweaking, but it’s the least I can do for someone trying their best to protect people.” 

Peter was silent for a moment, overwhelmed. 

“If you have powers like I do, and you don’t do anything with them... then you’re the reason people get hurt.” Tony glanced up at him before smiling. 

“You don’t have to justify it to me, kid. You do have to wear the super fancy suit I made you and stay out of trouble too big for you.” Peter laughed. 

“Do you make every wayward superhero a suit?” 

“If I can. When people get hurt and I can prevent it, it’s my fault.” Peter rolled his eyes at having his words paraphrased back at him, but couldn’t stop the bright grin on his face even if he wanted to. 

There wasn't much talking after that. Dinner was a hushed affair, with everyone worn out emotionally and Tony almost falling asleep in his mashed potatoes as May coaxed him to eat “just a little more, I could hear your stomach growling earlier”. When he was done he was steered to the shower with a clean pair of pjs and underwear from his overnight bag (which Peter was delighted to see were Avengers themed). When the water turned off and Tony opened the door he went in and gave him his toothbrush and they practiced good dental hygiene side by side, which was less interesting than it sounded. 

When it was finally time for bed Tony climbed into Peter’s bed and curled up next to him without a second thought or question. May and Peter stared at each other for a moment, but May shrugged and mouthed ‘You good?’ and Peter gave her a thumbs up, so they stayed that way, with Tony getting progressively clingier throughout the night. A few times Peter woke up to a sleepy fog and a whimpering Stark, rubbing his back gently through his half-asleep daze until he settled again. 

In the morning they both tumbled out of bed, hair a mess and eyes glazed, as May called them to breakfast. They took turns in the bathroom before wandering down the hallway, pausing when Tony tugged on Peter’s shirt. 

“Do you have school?” he asked, sounding very young and very sleepy, and Peter had to stop himself from cooing at  _ Tony motherfucking Stark _ . Instead he swung him up into his arms, carrying him on his hip, and smiled indulgently when the boy laid his head tiredly on his shoulder. 

“It’s a Sunday, little man, so I’m staying right here. We can do something fun today! We could go to Central Park, or the Lego Store, or we could build something, if you wanted.” Tony snorted, a soft sound. 

“Out of your dumpster diving computer parts? No thanks.” 

“Hey, not all of us are super genius billionaires!” 

“No, some of us are just super geniuses.” Peter blushed at the off-hand compliment as Tony yawned, quietly ecstatic at the praise. “Can I look at your web shooters?” He hesitated, glancing down into hopeful eyes. 

“Tonight, after dinner.” Tony beamed and settled closer to his chest and Peter felt his heart melt, determination filling him -- he was going to make sure no one hurt Tony Stark again, if he could help it. 

May glanced up and smiled softly as they entered the kitchen, running her hand over Tony’s hair as they passed and beaming as he practically melted into the touch.  _ Touch-starved _ Peter thought, rubbing his back softly before gently depositing him in a chair. He yawned again and rubbed his eyes, leaning against the edge of the table as Peter sat next to him. 

Tony was quiet again at breakfast, clearly not a morning person, while May and Peter engaged in their soft morning chatter as they discussed the plans for the day. “Tony and I were thinking of maybe going to a park or over to Ned’s,” Peter said, tearing up his toast to dip into his egg yoke. Tony grunted at the sound of his name, looking up blearily before going back to carefully eating his breakfast. He didn’t seem as coordinated as he wanted to be, and more of the egg than he probably wanted ended up on his face rather than in his mouth. May resisted the urge to coo. 

“Sounds fine to me. Just make sure you tell Ned and his mom before-hand. And don’t tell Ned who he is, Peter, you know that boy can’t keep a secret for shit.” Peter frowned but nodded. 

“Yeah, we’ll probably just go to the park and hang out then.” He nudged Tony with his elbow just as he was about to fall asleep in his eggs, making him jolt upright.

“Central Park?” Tony muttered as he shoveled food into his mouth to cover up the fact he was dozing off. Peter snorted. 

“You want to walk all the way back to Manhattan, buddy?” Tony looked at him and frowned at the nickname, but slowly shook his head. 

“Not really.”

“We’ll go to a local park, there’s one nearby.” Tony continued to stare at him, and Peter stared back nervously, unsure what the tiny genius was contemplating.

“Can I draw?”

“What?” 

“With chalk. Can I draw?” 

“Oh yeah, I bet MJ has some chalk. She loves drawing.” 

“MJ?” 

“She’s one of my friends. I bet you’ll like her.” He started to squirm as Tony stared at him some more before breaking out into a slow grin. 

“You  _ liiiike _ her!” 

“I don’t!” Peter cried as May started laughing, blushing furiously. 

“You do. But don’t worry, I won’t tell. I’ll help you get her.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Peter. Peter Parker. Peter-man. I’m Tony effing Stark. I can help you get a girl.” Peter blinked, staring down at the sleepy and disheveled boy in shock as he went back to stuffing his face with breakfast. “Plus,” Tony added through a mouthful as May scolded him for talking with his mouth full, “chicks love guys who are good with kids. Conveniently, I am a kid right now.” 

“I don’t think MJ likes kids,” Peter replied with some hesitation, and Tony gave him the stink-eye while May choked on her laughter. 

“She doesn’t have to like  _ kids _ to like guys  _ with _ kids. May, back me up!” 

“He’s not wrong, Pete,” May said after she managed to reel in her laughter, shoving a bite into her mouth to keep from letting it out again as Peter turned a darker shade of red. Tony grinned smugly. 

“To the park with MJ!” 

* * *

 

“Hey Parker. Who’s the kid?” 

MJ looked as nice as she always did, down to earth and laid back and perfect, and Peter rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding Tony’s. Tony held out his free hand with a big grin, politely saying “I’m Anthony! I’m staying with Ms Parker because my Mommy is sick right now.” 

“One of Aunt May’s coworker’s kids?” MJ concluded, shaking Tony’s hand easily. “Nice to meet you. I’m MJ.” She looked at Peter. “He why you wanted sidewalk chalk?” 

“Yeah. It wasn’t any trouble, was it?” 

“Nah. You know I have little cousins. We keep some on hand for when they visit. C’mon kid, let me show you how to draw Spider-Man.” Tony’s eyes sparkled, whether with mirth or happiness, as he darted off after MJ and left Peter to stand dazed in their wake. Maybe Tony was right about girls liking guys with kids. When he finally followed them the two had commandeered a large swath of sidewalk. Tony had claimed the yellow, orange, and pink chalks for himself, and seemed to be scribbling in a very deliberate pattern. It looked like nothing to Peter, but obviously meant something to the kid. MJ, meanwhile, had done as promised and taken the red, black, and blue, drawing a pretty good approximation of Spider-Man’s mask. Peter winced when he saw it. His costume didn’t exactly inspire awe or fear, but it worked well enough to keep the wind out and keep his face covered, and that’s all he had needed it for when he started. The prospect of a new costume that Tony had designed, possibly one with some actual protection in it, was appealing. 

Tony was talking excitedly at MJ as he drew, chattering on about how cool Spider-Man was and how did she think he made his webs? She indulged him, giving thoughtful answers, and the two seemed to appreciate each other’s company, just like Peter thought they would. He smiled and settled next to them, claiming a green chalk for himself and starting to draw a rough approximation of the Hulk. He wasn’t a bad artist -- he designed his own blueprints, after all -- but it wasn’t exactly his forte. MJ, at the very least, seemed impressed. 

The small genius continued to talk about random topics for the better part of an hour, at which point he was apparently done with his drawing, because he leaned back and grinned happily at it. MJ had finished Spider-Man and moved on to draw Peter, Ned, and herself. Peter was in the midst of drawing the rest of the Avengers. They both leaned back to study Tony’s work. 

It was an intricately woven ball, it looked like, with depth and detail that made no sense to them, but probably made sense to Tony. “That’s cool,” MJ said kindly. “What is it?” 

“JARVIS,” Tony replied happily, dusting off his hands proudly. 

“Nice.” She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture. “I’ll send this to Peter so you can show your mom.” He beamed at her before darting off to the playground equipment, immediately scrambling up onto the monkey bars. 

“He’s a good kid,” MJ said as she sent the picture. 

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, thinking back to the Avengers’ reactions yesterday when they found Tony and the look on his face when they yelled. “He is.” 


	17. 17: Letting Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony hangs out with his new friends Peter and MJ. But lunch isn't supposed to be this dangerous...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back once again! I apologize for the late update, again. Please keep giving me ideas, I try to turn them into something that looks like a cohesive story and I do have at least two arcs I will eventually get to, but I need to get through the Parkers first!
> 
> I discovered once again I am unable to write a completely angst free chapter but this is mostly fluffy, I hope you enjoy it (and the character I introduce!)
> 
> Thank you to all the wonderful guests who left SUCH KIND comments on the last few chapters. It means a lot to me and you guys are what pushed me to finish this. Thanks babes <3 enjoy!

Tony squealed in joy as he swung through the air, giggling when Peter and MJ put him back on his feet to walk beside them with their hands clutched in his. There was something mean like a headache pounding in the back of his mind, telling him he shouldn't act that way, but Peter was grinning every time they swung him and MJ was laughing with him, so he couldn't be doing anything bad. He decided to ignore it, and shrieked in happiness as they swung him again, clinging to their hands tightly.

They had left the park for lunch after Peter showed him how to hang upside on the monkey bars and swing himself back up when his face started to go red. Peter didn't have that problem, but Tony knew that was because Peter was a superhero with weird powers. MJ thought they should go to McDonald's, and Tony thought that sounded awesome because he really wanted a burger. The thought made something harsh and scary jar in his mind, and he frowned as he pushed it away, worrying on his lip.

Why was he so worried? He couldn't quite put the energy into remembering right now, didn't really want to. It seemed scary, and he was having fun with Peter and MJ right now. If it was important, the Avengers would take care of it. The _other_ Avengers.

He pushed that thought away too.

"What's with the frown, little man?" MJ asked, swinging him up into her arms. He giggled, leaning back away from her until she dipped him upside down, smiling indulgently. He grinned up at Peter and Peter grinned back, laughing. He squirmed until MJ righted him and set him back down, grabbing her hand again and bouncing along next to her.

"Is there a play area?" he asked excitedly. "McDonald's' have play areas, right?"

"Sure," MJ said agreeably. "But you can't play until you've eaten your meal."

"Oh, come on, MJ," Peter argued. "Let the kid have some fun."

"You would be a terrible father."

"Hey!"

"Is there going to be a toy?" Tony asked, looking up at MJ hopefully. "Can I keep it?"

"Of course!" Peter exclaimed, and Tony giggled at his volume as people on the street glared at him.

"I think they're doing Avengers toys right now," MJ said more sedately. "Who's your favorite, Tony?"

"My favorite Avenger?" Tony paused, feeling something uncomfortable grow in the pit of his stomach. He liked all the Avengers. Iron Man was really cool and smart, and flying around like he was weightless and there wasn't a care in the world always gave him a thrill. Steve was really nice and good at cooking, and he cared about everyone on the team, even when he was being a self-righteous dick. Natasha was quiet and scary, but she was only dangerous to people who were bad, and she always showed that she cared in the little, really important ways. Thor was loud and brash, and could probably crush his skull with one hand, but he was gentle where it was important and always willing to learn something new, which Tony could appreciate. Clint was abrasive and a mess but fierce in a fight and a really good friend. Bruce was amazingly smart and one of the kindest people he had ever met, and Hulk was pretty cool too, especially since Hulk had saved his life that one time.

"I like Iron Man," he heard Peter say, jarring him out of his thoughts, and Tony grinned proudly.

"I know what you like, Parker, I asked the kid," MJ deadpanned, and Tony giggled, hiding it against his hand.

"Who do you like?" he prodded curiously, looking up at MJ. She raised a brow and considered for a moment.

"I like Black Widow," she declared, and Peter snorted even though he looked enamored.

"You just like the way her thighs look when she does that thing."

"Are you telling me you aren't attracted to her?"

"... I'm not saying that."

"That's because you know you can't lie to me. Checkmate." Tony laughed, shrieking when Peter reached out and ruffled his hair, reaching up to smooth it back down. He thought maybe this was what having an older brother was like. He wondered what his other childhood might've been like if Peter were there.

The McDonald's didn't have a play area - Tony pouted in disappointment - but it did have a little outdoor table that they could sit at, so Tony claimed it while Peter and MJ went to order. He swung his legs as he sat, staring down at the ants crawling around the sidewalk, and looked up when a shadow fell over him.

"Hello," the man said with a soft smile. He was a perfectly normal looking guy, in a collared shirt and jeans, hair combed neatly. Tony's shoulders tensed in defense, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm Dave. What's your name?"

"What's it to you?" he muttered, not quite looking the man in the eye. His phone vibrated but he didn't move to pull it out, a tense coiling feeling starting to rise in his chest.

"Where are your parents?" Dave continued instead. Tony raised his brows and pointed to the McDonald's, studying Dave's face as he glanced over for a moment. "Well, can you come with me for a minute?"

"No. Why?"

"My boy just outgrew his bike and I thought a nice young boy like you might like it. It's just over at my car-"

"Bring it here then."

"We'll be back before your parents come out-"

"No! Go away!" Tony's raised voice was starting to attract attention, just like he wanted. A dark look passed over Dave's face and he shrunk back in fear, coldness blossoming down his spine, but it was gone as quickly as he came as Dave scooped him up and started walking away.

He screamed.

"THIS ISN'T MY DADDY!" he screeched at the top of his lungs as he threw a fist into Dave's ear, making the man curse. He aimed another for his throat but his fist was caught. "HE'S NOT MY DADDY!" He writhed, kicking desperately, squirming incessantly against the tightening grip of a stranger. Tears started to stream down his face, his breath hitching, and he opened his mouth again as Dave shoved his head into his shoulder, muffling and smothering him.

He panicked when he couldn't get a full breath, the pain from the battery in his chest amping up along with his squirming. He screamed into Dave's shirt, panic and desperation wracking him even as he felt Dave stop walking.

"This your kid?" he heard someone ask, and he sobbed desperately, reaching out blindly towards the voice.

"He's just throwing a tantrum," Dave said nervously.

"Then lemme talk to him."

"He's just being a kid-"

"Then you won't mind me talking to him."

"He's my kid!"

Tony heard a dial tone and felt Dave tense. " _911, what's your emergency?_ "

"Hey, my name is Sam Wilson and I think there's been an attempted kidnapping."

"I didn't kidnap him! He's my kid!"

"Then why don't you let me ask him that, and I can tell the nice lady on the phone that I was wrong?"

Tony suddenly went boneless and Dave cursed again, dropping him to the ground. Tony sat, sobbing and trying to catch his breath, looking behind him at who had stopped the kidnapping. It was a black man who had his arms crossed, a phone in one hand, a brow raised at Dave.

"He's n-not my Daddy," he choked out to the man, pointing at Dave. "I w-want my Daddy-" He trailed off into a wail, sobs wracking his chest. He heard Peter and MJ shouting for him and watched as they pushed through the crowd. Dave looked panicked, turning away and running straight into MJ. She grabbed his pinky and twisted him to the ground, sitting on the small of his back. Peter, looking pissed and terrified in equal measures, sat on his legs. He struggled and cussed.

"Yeah," Sam said into his phone, "we have him under citizens arrest. This was definitely an attempted kidnapping." He nodded to some of the people who were loitering nearby. "I'll talk to the parents and see if they want to press charges, but there are a couple people here to give their statements either way." Tony choked on a sob, crawling towards Sam, and was gratified when he knelt down and gathered him up with one arm, bouncing him lightly and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "It's alright buddy. Were you here with those two?" He nodded at Peter and MJ.

"Yes," Tony sobbed. "They're my friends." He laid his head on Sam's shoulder, tears still running down his face, exhausted.

"Where are your parents, bud?" Tony pointed tiredly as Steve and the others pushed through the crowd before leaning back and reaching out for Bruce. Bruce looked baffled and pissed and scared, an expression truly only he could convey, but he pulled Tony into his arms gently, hushing him softly.

"It's alright, Tony," he said quietly as Tony fisted his hands in Bruce's shirt.

"D-daddy," he sobbed tiredly, burying his face in Bruce's chest to ignore the others reactions. Bruce was the one who looked most like him, a big boy part of him said, so he had to be the daddy. Natasha could be the mommy, he thought to the big boy part, which cringed slightly, so he pushed it away and tried to remember how to breathe. Bruce rubbed his back softly, and he could hear Sam and Steve talking.

"You're Captain America man. Y'all have a kid?"

"It's Tony Stark," MJ said, and Tony peeked out, looking at them all.

"Shh!" Clint hissed at MJ, gaudy purple sunglasses pushed up his head. "Don't go announcing it to everyone!"

Sam laughed a bit before he took in Steve's grim face and did a headcount, then did it again. "Holy shit," he said, running a hand over his head. "Alright. Well, the police are going to arrest this fuc-fudger."

"Please, Mr?"

"Wilson. Sam Wilson."

"Mr. Wilson, we'll explain everything once we get this sorted out over dinner for your troubles." MJ was hissing at Peter and Peter was arguing back, both with an increasing amount of hand gestures. Tony didn't care. He was tired, and his chest ached fiercely, and he was still upset at the others except for Thor, because there was a part of him that was _so afraid_. He reached out to Thor and settled into his arms, sighing happily as Thor rested his cheek on his head, his thumb gravitating towards his mouth.

"It is alright, Anthony," Thor rumbled softly, and Tony melted into the vibrations of his chest, feeling warm and safe and sleepy.

"Hey kid," MJ said some time later, and he opened his eyes tiredly. "You still hungry?"

"Hungwy?" he asked around his thumb before nodding.

"Great," MJ said with a smile, "because they gave you a Hulk toy."

"Huwk!"


End file.
